


Nexus

by SkinSlave



Category: Marilyn Manson (Band)
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Age Difference, Alcohol, Alternate Universe, Anal Plug, Anal Sex, BDSM, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Bisexual Male Character, Blood, Cocaine, Cock & Ball Torture, Cock Piercing, Cock Slapping, Crying, Daddy Kink, Divorce, Drama, Emotional Baggage, Face Punching, First Kiss, First Time, Fist Fights, Gangbang, Gay Male Character, Group Sex, Heartache, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Marijuana, Medical Procedures, Men Crying, Mystery, Name-Calling, Personal Growth, Pet Names, Piercings, Plot Devices, Punching, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Science Fiction, Secrets, Self-cest, Slurs, Spanking, Spit As Lube, Tattoos, Threesome - M/M/M, Timeline What Timeline, Transvestite, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-08
Updated: 2019-06-08
Packaged: 2020-04-23 02:33:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 28,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19141810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkinSlave/pseuds/SkinSlave
Summary: A rift between universes forces a rock star to help himself through times of love, lust, heartache, suspicion, discovery and uncertainty.TW: unreasonable cuteness, bickering, an actual plot device, and Jeff's return.





	1. Chapter 1

It sounded like the building was coming down around them. Someone shoved him out of the way and he hit the floor hard. His hands came up, covered the back of his head and neck.

_ Perfect _ , he thought.  _ Fucking perfect. I should've just gone with the album. _

The sound died away and small pieces of debris pelted his back. Waiting for them all to land felt like it took forever, like waiting for popcorn to finish. When it seemed like the dust had settled, he opened his eyes.

“Are you ok, sir?”

“For fuck's sake, Jeff, stop calling me 'sir,’” he groaned, getting up. “It's 'Marilyn’ or ‘Manson’ or 'hey, asshole’ or 'Brian' if you're my accountant. Got it?”

Jeff picked his way over the wreckage, his suit covered in soot. He brushed his hands over Manson’s shoulders. Across the room, Dr. Sanbell coughed and pushed a panel out of the way.

“Is anyone hurt?” she called out.

“I don't think so,” Jeff replied, looking Marilyn over.

“I'm so sorry. I have no idea what happened. The machine shouldn't have been powered on at all.”

She approached the remains of the device - intended to harness energy from alternate dimensions and power the world. Jeff thought a quick interview and photo op would play well with the granola voters. Instead, they all could've been blown up. The prototype was destroyed. And someone, somewhere, would blame him.

Jeff stepped away and made a phone call. Marilyn picked a few bits of metal wire out of his hair. He'd been closest to the machine. His ears were ringing. He rubbed his temples and hoped he didn't have a concussion.

From the corner of his eye, there was a flash of red. He turned toward it and his jaw fell open. In the corner, with a strange look on his face, was Marilyn. That is, another Marilyn, a reflection. With his Kool-Aid red hair and matching sequined halter top, he looked like a Mechanical Animals memory.

“Hey, Jeff,” Manson called out, keeping his eyes on the hallucination. “I definitely have a concussion 'cause I'm completely sober… ish… and I'm seeing myself in fuck-me boots…”

“What the fuck?” Jeff's voice was low. “No, boss… I see it too.”

The figure took a step forward, metallic pink lips hanging open. He raised one hand and squinted past his long fingers. Dr. Sanbell stepped over a blown control panel near him, eyes wide.

“Hey, Twigs,” he laughed. “I dunno what the fuck you put in that drink, man, but it's fucking incredible. I'm seeing people and shit.”

“Remarkable,” the doctor muttered. “The breakdown of the field must have destabilized the room. A large enough surge from another source could pull like matter together… maybe genetically coded… don't see any damage…”

“Uh, doc?” Marilyn said, raising a finger. “Question. What the fuck is that, why the fuck is that, and can the answer be in English please?”

“It's uh… Basically, the explosion opened… something… and apparently pulled him through. Like a pinhole through the layer of his universe that let him drip into ours.”

“Fuck,” the figure sighed. “You sound higher than me, lady.”

Marilyn scoffed and rubbed his face. Of course there was a hole in the universe that conveniently dumped a doppelganger from the past into his lap. Maybe, while they were at it, they could detonate a nuke with his name on the side.

“Ok, so put him back. I'm gonna go sit on the steps outside and wait for the cops to come arrest me for destruction of property.” He turned and stabbed a finger toward Jeff. “I  _ told _ you, I should've just done an album. If I get fucked on this, you're fired.”

He started toward the door. Dr. Sanbell cut him off.

“Wait. We don't know what could happen if you leave. Maybe nothing, maybe catastrophe. Just let me take some readings before you do anything. Please.”

Manson grumbled something and sighed deeply. He threw his hands up and turned back into the room. A chair in the corner still looked sturdy. He righted it and sat. The red version had begun to crawl through the mess, looking for hidden meanings in the shrapnel.

The doctor asked Jeff to accompany her. She needed some equipment that had been stored in another part of the lab for the tour. To be safe, they'd need readings from all over the building and the surrounding area. Marilyn waved them out. He could use the privacy.

Alone with himself, he closed his eyes, tried to will himself out of the dream. He must be home, lying in bed, cat on his chest, Amanda at his side in that little neglige he liked. He smiled a little, hoped he'd wake up in time to give her one before Jeff showed up. He focused, tried to hear her breathing, feel her heat.

“You need some help with that?”

Manson opened his eyes. A pair of red contacts were looking back at him, ringed with gaudy orange shadow. Those pink lips were curled into a feline smirk. The figure looked down and Marilyn followed his gaze to the sizeable bulge in his slacks.

“Come on,” he whined, leaning his cheek against Manson’s knee. “Drugs get me hot and ready. And what good is a sweet Daddy hallucination if I don't get to play?”

Marilyn rolled his eyes and nudged him.

“Get lost, Horny Stardust.”

The figure pouted but didn't move. His long fingers walked from his knee up his thigh. Manson felt a twitch. His Mechanical counterpart's pout spread into a smirk. His fingers reached the outline of Marilyn's cock and stroked it gently. He ran his tongue over his upper lip.

“Come on, Daddy.” His voice was oiled velvet. “Take it out for me. I'm hungry.”

Manson's mouth watered. Those cheekbones, bare shoulders, tangerine fingernails… The animal in front of him was painfully pretty. Pretty and willing. He cleared his throat.

“Go lock the door.”

“Yes sir,” the copy purred, running to ensure their privacy.

There was a window in the door, so Marilyn moved to be out of the line of sight. He leaned against the wall and freed his erection. No sooner did he have it out than the younger man slid onto his knees.

He looked up, locking eyes with Manson, and took the cock he wanted in his hand. His tongue curled under the head, pulled it into his mouth. His eyes fluttered closed and he hummed, his mouth vibrating.

Marilyn cupped one hand at the back of his head and he took the cock deeply. It was more than a mouthful. He adjusted his position and let it slip into his throat. His face pressed into the open zipper. Manson held him there, moaning softly. When he released him, the painted plaything backed up and gasped for air. A thin thread of spit connected them.

“Yes, Daddy,” he purred. “You wanna fuck this mouth?”

He opened wide, tongue lolling out. Marilyn bounced his cock against it a few times before thrusting back in. He hollowed his cheeks and pressed his tongue against the underside. His hands wrapped around Manson's hips, urging him on as his pace quickened.

It was good, too good for what it was. Decades of blowjobs had left Marilyn jaded and unimpressed. Now, though, he found himself pounding his cock between those pretty pink lips. He left a gap every few strokes for a gasping breath.

One of his copy's hands dropped, squeezing the crotch of his sequined pants. He moaned, or tried to, and the sound set Manson on the home stretch. He shoved his cock as far as it would go, then pulled out, leaving streams of drool on the cocksucker's chin. He started to jack off over his face.

“That's it, Daddy,” he sighed, rubbing his fingers over his wet lower lip. “I wanna eat your cum, suck every last drop out of your cock, swallow it all down.”

His tongue flicked out and barely touched the head. He groped his own chest and arched obscenely. Marilyn's pleasure settled low, burning. He chased it down, ringed fist tight and slick with spit. At the last moment, he pushed it back into that sweet pink mouth.

Three or four thrusts, fingers tangled in bold red hair, and Manson tensed. He groaned through his lips, tucked his chin into his chest and pulsed. Volleys of cum poured out. The vibration of a pleased moan and lustful eye contact made him shiver.

The 90s throwback stayed true to his word, swallowing and sucking until Marilyn was spent. He released his cock with a wet pop. There was a puddle on his tongue. He pressed his fingertips into it and lifted, pulling the sticky mess into strings that snapped and striped his lips. He sucked his fingers clean and licked those last remnants away. Watching him play with his cum was mesmerizing.

A sharp knock on the door reminded Marilyn that the rest of the world existed. He quickly tucked his cock away and let Jeff and the doctor in. They were carrying a large folding table.

“Why was the door locked?”

“Oh…” Manson rubbed the back of his neck. “I was… touching myself.”

Jeff laughed, not surprised in the least. He set up the table, kicking debris out of the way, while Dr Sanbell retrieved a box of equipment from the hall. Marilyn's twin had laid dramatically over the chair and was examining his nail polish.

“There’s definitely some kind of nexus here,” the doctor panted. “The readings are unbelievable - tunneling particles, alpha emissions - everything suggests that this is the epicenter. The readings change suddenly, giving us a boundary. The bad news is that you're connected to it.”

“So, what does that mean?”

Dr. Sanbell sighed. She looked sympathetic, almost sorry.

“It means that you have to stay here until I can get this sorted out. There's a reason that this alternate version of you is the only thing that came through. I'm not sure what it is yet. But if you leave the radius, there's a good chance you'll end up in some random dimension.”

Manson ran his fingers through his hair and paced for a few minutes. He cursed under his breath as the reality set in. He couldn't go to the next campaign stop. He couldn't go home. He also couldn't risk falling into another world.

For the time being, it was him, and him, and Jeff and the doctor. He was just going to have to make it work.


	2. Chapter 2

He was sitting at the table, head in his hands, moaning. Not the same moans he made with a cock in his mouth. Sad moans. He'd come down and was trying to absorb the fact that he hadn't been hallucinating.

Dr. Sanbell had converted a large lounge with adjoining restrooms into a kind of barracks for them. It was too big, but at least they didn't have to sleep on the same cot. A janitor brought in a refrigerator from the break room. Apparently, they were trying to keep the paradox thing under wraps.

Marilyn threw the door open and stormed in. He was laughing in a way that barely covered his frustration. The redhead at the table looked up.

“The fuck is your problem? Can't I have a nervous breakdown in peace?”

“You think _you're_ having a breakdown?!” Manson snapped. “Wait till you see this shit. It's gotten _so_ _much better_ while you've been in here painting your nails, Dope Show. This is beyond fucked. And you know what? I don't give a shit about your little existential crisis. This is my fucking universe and you assholes are fucking up my… He's behind me, isn't he?”

The sequined Barbie's eyes were popping out. He slowly stood and nodded. He had no idea who “he” was, but he was gorgeous. His black and white striped shirt under a black suit vest and tie, four watch chains hanging over his hips, bowler hat tipped to one side like the classiest “go to hell” in history…

“Well, this is confusing,” he muttered.

“Ok, lemme think for a minute.” Manson rubbed his eyes, then pointed at the man at the table. “You're gonna be Omega. And you,” he said, turning, “Golden Age, right? So you're Golden.”

“Ok, so you're…?” Golden pursed his dark lips.

“Just Marilyn.”

“Why can't I be Marilyn?” Omega whined.

“Because it's my goddamned universe!”

“Fine. Geez. Who lit the fuse on your tampon?”

Golden walked to the table and sat down. Omega followed, chin on his folded hands, looking into his mismatched eyes, smudged with black and blue shadow. He looked so polished, like a porcelain doll.

“So I guess time isn't synchronized across universes,” he said, pulling a joint out of his vest pocket. “'Cause you're from ‘98 or so, and when I woke up this morning it was 2004.”

“Seriously? We're all the same person from different times?” Omega seemed as spaced out by that revelation as he was by whatever he took before he arrived. “Hey, Marilyn, what year is this?”

Manson sat down and sighed, “It's 2020.”

“Damn, that makes you old enough to actually be my daddy. We age well.”

Golden laughed and passed the joint around. He and Omega discussed Columbine and how he should react when it happened. It might've fucked up the timeline, but no one seemed to care. Marilyn got a few grape sodas from the fridge.

“I’m sorry this happened,” Omega said seriously, taking one of the sodas. “I know it's fucked up. That machine in there was probably your life's work or something.”

“No… it was Dr. Sanbell's work. I was only here to take a tour and get some photos for the campaign.”

The other two men looked at one another and raised what would've been their eyebrows. They waited expectantly. Manson took a long drink and wiped his mouth.

“I'm running for office.”

Their mouths opened in unison, broke into mocking smiles. Golden drummed his fingers on the table. Omega made a gesture that asked for more information.

“The presidency.”

They burst out laughing. Omega put his head down, his shoulders shaking. Golden tossed his hat onto the table. His chrome grill caught the fluorescent light. Marilyn folded his arms and pressed his lips together.

“Ok… ok…” Golden was gasping for breath. “That's ok. In this universe, we're a politician instead of a musician. That's ok. I mean, it doesn't make a lot of sense, but…”

“No, I am a musician. How else would I remember you two fuckwits? Just trust me. The last one we had was a fucking reality show host. Even I could do a better job.”

They were holding in another round of laughter, on the verge of exploding. He flipped them both off and leaned back in his chair. That did it. They laughed hysterically for several minutes. Golden wiped away a tear. Omega leaned close.

“I'm sorry. We didn't mean to hurt your feelings. Look, would another -” He made a sucking gesture. “- help?”

“Wait, what? Did…? You from the past falls out of the sky and your first reaction is to get your dick wet?” Golden grinned. “We really are the same man.”

Omega blew him a kiss. He slid out of his chair and came around the table. He pulled Golden's chair back and turned it sideways. He knelt between his knees and purred.

“I'm very persuasive. And we're so attractive…” He rubbed against Golden's inner thigh. “You know, just because we didn't get those ribs removed doesn't mean… Wait. You guys didn't get ribs removed, did you?”

Golden fidgeted nervously and laughed, “Come on. I'm a married man.”

“Give it a year,” Manson mumbled behind his hand.

“Oral is part of the job, remember? Even if it weren't, it's not cheating. If anything, it's masturbation.”

Golden scoffed, but he didn't stop Omega's fingers on his zipper. He was half-hard already. Marilyn quickly stepped into the hallway and closed the door. Omega flashed his middle finger in that direction and took the swelling cock into his mouth.

Golden tipped his head back and sighed. He pulled Omega's head down and hiked his hips, thrusting into his mouth. It felt like heaven, the whole length sliding over his tongue. He tasted like sweat. The throbbing cock made its way to the back of his throat, touching those places that made his own cock twitch.

“God, you really are a slut,” Golden said fondly, stroking his cheek. “You're so fucking good at that… Come here.”

He pulled Omega into his lap and kissed him. His deep violet lipstick smeared across both of their mouths. His tongue took Omega over, making him stiff beneath his red pants. Golden noticed, reached between them to grope at his clothed cock.

Omega rutted into his hand, moaned around his tongue. He tasted like grape soda and need. It was bizarre, morally questionable, but Golden was rock hard and he knew what he wanted. He pulled back from the kiss and gave Omega's cock a squeeze.

“Strip for me, princess.”

Omega nearly squealed with excitement, peeling skin-tight vinyl and fabric away. He was so pale, like he'd never seen the sun. Golden folded his clothes neatly on the chair and bounced on one of the cots. It seemed sturdy enough.

Omega joined him, his eager smile smudged purple with Golden's makeup. They embraced again, explored one another with their hands. But Omega was more than ready. He turned and leaned down, presenting his ass.

Golden bent down and ran his tongue over Omega's entrance. He sighed, a feminine sound that said that he was in his favorite place. Golden slicked his cock with spit and lined up. He hesitated.

“Do you need me to…”

“Just do it, babe,” Omega purred, smiling over his shoulder. “You're not gonna hurt me.”

Slowly, Golden leaned into him. Omega arched and sighed. He was tight and hot and Golden struggled to be gentle. He started a steady, measured pace. It drew a breathy moan from his chest.

Omega let out a string of curses under his breath. He pushed his ass back to meet each thrust. Golden gripped his hips and quickened his pace. Omega's voice rose to a whimpering moan.

“That’s it, babe,” he sighed, throwing his head back. “That ass is all yours… all yours… take it.”

Golden looked up from that beautiful ivory skin in time to see Marilyn pull Omega's mouth down onto his cock. The sounds filtering through the door had drawn him in. He tugged his pants down around his thighs and focused on the lips below him.

Omega was beside himself, bouncing from cock to cock. Being stuffed full felt so good that he was almost vibrating. He gave a few choked groans, swallowed hard and clenched down, hoping to bring them off first. He could feel Golden adjust his angle and slide over his sweet spot.

Omega's desperate gasps as he mouthed at Manson’s cock were electric. He rocked his hips, sliding over that firm, wet tongue. He could feel every impact of Golden's hips as he fucked their shared toy. The image of Omega playing with his cum filled his mind. He could feel his peak coming.

“So good, princess,” Golden hissed through his teeth, slapping the pale ass he was reaming. “Taking these cocks like a crew slut in the back of a tour bus. You gonna cum on this cock?”

Marilyn's mouth fell open. Omega whined around him and nodded. Without thinking, he yanked on that red hair and jammed his cock down his throat. He almost came up on his toes as he released. His length throbbed and he grunted roughly. Omega struggled, unable to breathe, barely able to swallow the cum that flooded his throat.

Deprived of air and pounded from behind, Omega fell quickly. His thighs shook for a long moment. He arched like a rubber band had been snapped, ripping Manson's dripping cock from his lips. He spilled thick on the sheets, crying out and sitting back onto Golden's lap. His spasming body milked the cock inside of him.

Golden moaned long and low. He held Omega tightly, pumping his cum into his ass. He looked faint as he finished. He leaned on one arm and licked his lips.

Omega fell flat onto his stomach. He laid still for several seconds. Manson had moved to the other cot and was sitting, spent cock resting against his thigh.

The door swung open and Jeff walked in.

“We've marked the boundary, sir. You should have… more… freedom…”

He slowed and stopped, staring at the three fucked-out men. He opened his mouth as if to continue, then closed it. He took a deep breath, turned around and left, closing the door behind him.

“Was that Jeff?” Golden pointed after him.

“Yep.”

“He's worked for you all this time?”

“Yep.”

Omega, who could've been mistaken for dead, started to laugh. He rolled onto his side and looked Marilyn in the face.

“Did your fucking manservant just walk in on us?” he giggled. “So much for a covert tryst.”

“It's fine,” Manson sighed. “It's Jeff.”

“Jeff's a good man.” Golden stretched and headed for the restroom. “Discrete, quiet, doesn't ask questions… he's the kinda guy the mob hires.”

Marilyn followed, calling out after him, “Actually, he's mellowed out a little. Still very punctual…”

Omega wrinkled his brow and scoffed. He shifted and realized he was covered in cum. It had dribbled from the corner of his mouth. He'd laid in his own puddle. And yet more was seeping onto his inner thighs. He sighed, stood awkwardly and started toward the bathroom.

“Guys? Guys… Who the fuck is Jeff?”


	3. Chapter 3

Jeff was a man of many talents and installing locks was one of them. That, along with strict instructions to stay away from the barracks area, gave the men the privacy they needed. When Dr. Sanbell needed to see them, Jeff came alone and escorted them to the lab. Anything he saw, or heard, was as secure as a lockbox.

The doctor took particle emission readings and blood samples twice a day. She gave them cognitive tests. The data went to another lab, unlabeled, and the results helped guide the reconstruction of the machine.

Most of the time, the boys were on their own. Jeff brought them books, art supplies and music. He kept them well-stocked with snacks, booze, makeup and clean clothes. And when all else failed, they played.

After several days, Jeff came to bring the men to the lab for their morning tests. But instead of waving them into the hall, he came inside and closed the door. Omega was doing his makeup at the table. Golden was reading on his cot. Manson still had half a granola bar in his hand.

“I have something to tell you, sir… sirs…”

“Goddamnit, Jeff,” Marilyn muttered, pretending to throw his breakfast. “Fifteen years and I still have to tell you- Nevermind. What is it?”

He adjusted his charcoal suit vest and rubbed his mouth. Golden marked his page and stood up. Omega put his lipstick down. Manson groaned and dropped his head into his hands.

“What album?” His voice was muffled.

“Eat Me, Drink Me, si- Marilyn. He was sitting in the hallway when Dr. Sanbell arrived this morning. He's been briefed. She's taking a blood sample now.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Omega sighed. “How many are there gonna be?”

“Like you're complaining about a new man, princess,” Golden quipped. “Thanks for giving us a heads up, Jeff. I guess it's time to get stuck.”

“I'm always up to getting stuck,” Omega stage-whispered as he filed into the hall.

Their procession stopped at the door to the lab. Marilyn and Golden stood, gaping. Omega tried to see around them. When they wouldn't move, he shoved his way through and stopped.

“Well, hello, nurse!”

The new arrival was sitting in a chair while the doctor collected a few vials of blood. He was handsome in thick black eyeshadow and red lipstick… and nothing else. His free hand just barely hid his cock. He smiled and shrugged his shoulders.

“Sorry, guys. I was… busy. Next thing I know, I'm in this dump.” He pointed to each man in turn. “Mechanical Animals, Golden Age of Grotesque… and I don't know your album.”

“Smells Like Politicians,” Golden laughed.

Omega chuckled, then cleared his throat and tried to put on a serious face. He moved to the side as Manson stepped up. He clicked his tongue.

“You’re gonna need a nickname so we're not confused. We have Omega and Golden. Who are you? Rabbit. You look like a Rabbit. Guys?”

The other two men hummed in approval. From his chair, the newcomer huffed. Dr. Sanbell pulled the needle from his arm and he stood. He forgot that he was nude, or didn't care.

“No, no, no. You're not calling me Rabbit. That's bullshit. And why would they get a say?”

“They have tenure,” Manson smirked. “And if I recall correctly, I was a whiny little bitch right around your age. So fuck you.”

“The tribunal has spoken!” Golden laughed, setting Omega off again. Even Marilyn chuckled.

They took turns in the chair while Jeff saw Rabbit to the barracks and got him some clothes. By the time the rest of the pack returned, he had settled in and was brooding at the table.

“You'd better let it go, Rabbit,” Golden said, sitting down nearby. “Marilyn's kinda in charge. Sort of. It's his universe, so… Anyway, we're all stuck here for the time being and we're just trying to make the best of it.”

“Whatever. I'm just going through a rough time.” He ran his hands through his hair. “My wife is leaving me. Or I'm leaving her. It's falling apart and I…”

He trailed off. Manson had come in a minute later after speaking with Jeff in the hall. He passed out sodas and sat down with a bag of chips.

“It fucking sucks,” he said softly. “We loved for so long. And then as soon as we hit that depth, it was...”

“Torture.” Rabbit sniffed. “Like crawling out of a cave where the water's rising, but it keeps getting tighter and tighter. You can see the sun but the more you struggle...”

“The tighter it gets. You're going numb. The light's still there but you can't keep going and it starts to feel like the only option...”

“Is to let go...”

“And drown.”

Marilyn nodded, his words still hanging on his lips. Golden tapped the table and stood. He motioned to Omega and they stepped outside. The door latched. Rabbit tented his fingers and pressed his lips together.

“Do we ever get it back?” There was a tremor in his voice.

“No, kid. We don't.” Manson took a drink and turned to face him. “It stays a bad memory. Like a knee that aches when it rains. We fall again soon. And she's young and it's strong and deep and we think we have it again. But it withers. And we spend a lot of years cracking people open, men and women, friends and fans, looking for it. And then we settle.”

Rabbit buried his head in his hands. He was small, hunched, damaged. Marilyn put his hand on his shoulder and squeezed.

“And then we meet her.”

Rabbit looked up. His eyeshadow had run a little. His brow was knit.

“Amanda,” Manson sighed, “is the light. There's no crawling to her. She meets us where we are, gives us what we need. She makes it easy. She makes it worth it. So when we get her, we hold the fuck on. Understand?”

He swallowed hard and nodded. Marilyn remembered that pain, how sharp it was. It felt like eternity. It felt like the end. He pulled the younger man close.

Rabbit bent, pressed his cheek against Manson’s black t-shirt. He took deep breaths. The strong arms around him felt so good. He hadn't felt anything like that in a long time. A pinpoint of hope was shining in his heart.

He pulled back and, without thinking, pulled Marilyn in for a kiss. It was gentle and sweet. The other man didn't resist so he did it again… and again… feathering kisses over his jawline and down his neck. He needed it, to be wanted, to be loved.

Manson was just as soft. Talking about his pain with someone who knew exactly what it was had emptied something tight in him. He peeled Rabbit's leather jacket away and pulled him toward the cots.

They stood in front of them and undressed. Marilyn stroked the angles of his shoulders. He ran his fingers over tattoos he hadn't gotten yet. They sat, facing, and melted into one another. They knew all the right places to knead and nibble.

Soon Rabbit's cock was poking Manson in the stomach. He tapped it with a grin and felt a tap mirrored on the erection he didn't realize he had. He leaned in for another sensual kiss.

“Lay back.”

Rabbit stretched out, his head on the pillow. He gasped as the older man took his cock into his mouth. He worked it slowly but steadily, his mouth followed by his ringed hand. He hummed when it throbbed and his burgundy lips buzzed against the head.

“Come here,” Rabbit gasped. “Let me have you, too.”

He moved toward the center and helped Manson get into position over him. He eagerly swallowed the cock above him, savoring the girth. He rocked his hips, a shallow thrust into the mouth that was back on his own length.

Tentatively, he reached up and caressed Marilyn's ass. As his pleasure built, he became bolder. He wet his thumb and rubbed it over Manson’s entrance. The moaning response told him that it was welcome.

They moved in tandem, painting each other with their lipstick. Unsurprisingly, their rhythm broke down at the same time, becoming sloppy as they neared climax. Marilyn dove, sucking Rabbit's cock in as deep as it would go, working the muscles in his throat. The man under him returned the favor.

They released together, thrusting deeply as they came. Beneath their moans, the creaking of the cot was lost. They kept going, sucking and trembling, until they'd gone too far by just enough.

Manson carefully rolled away and turned, offering his lips for another kiss. They were both sticky with spit and cum and neither cared in the least. They held each other as they came down.

They were barely dressed when Golden peeked his head in the door. Marilyn pretended to be looking for a book and Rabbit went for his soda. It wasn't a convincing cover-up, but none of them had room to talk.

“Is it still awkward in here?” Golden called out.

“No,” Manson sighed. “We're done feeling.”

“Good.” He sounded relieved.

He strolled in, Omega on his heels. They raided the fridge, tossing random food on the table. Taking a walk down the hall had apparently worked up an appetite.

“I'm sorry you're getting a divorce, by the way,” Omega said between grapes. “That's gotta suck for all of you.”

“Thanks,” Rabbit sighed, grabbing for some crackers.

Manson grabbed another round of drinks and muttered, “I guess Dita's a heartbreaker in any universe.”

“You mean Bridget.”

“No, Dita, our wife.”

“Our wife's name is Bridget,” Rabbit said slowly. “Bridget Powers.”

Golden choked on a carrot. He coughed and wheezed, bent over. The others stared, unsure of whether he needed the Heimlich. It dislodged and he gasped.

“You married Bridget Powers? Bridget the Midget? The porn star? Are you fucking kidding?”

“Yeah…” Rabbit looked confused, turning back to Marilyn. “Wait. Who did you marry?”

“Dita Von Teese. Damn, your universe got fucked up somehow.” He turned to Golden who was holding his sides with laughter. “You can shut the fuck up. Dita… or Bridget… is gonna leave your ass too. Which one did you get?”

“Johnny!” he giggled. “I married Johnny two years ago.”

“Depp?” Omega grinned as Golden nodded. “Fuck yeah! I'm going that route. That's the problem. You went the wrong damn way.”

Manson and Rabbit each threw a handful of cereal. Omega ducked and it showered over him. He sat down, picking pieces out of his hair and muttering.

“Don't know what your fucking problem is. Have you seen his ass? He could crack a walnut with those cheeks.”


	4. Chapter 4

He was deceptively slow, sitting at the table, eyeing the other four men. They seemed uncomfortable. They knew him, but he didn't know any of them. He shook his long black hair out of his face. He was like a primitive ancestor, beautiful and feral.

Antichrist had arrived in full concert regalia: dirty corset, torn stockings, the works. He wandered through the facility while Dr. Sanbell chased after him. She tried to explain what had happened. That Jeff would bring him a change of clothes. That she needed a blood sample.

He didn't seem to be listening until he made it back to the lab, sat down and rolled his laced gauntlet out of the way of her needle. The doctor sighed in relief and took several vials. He spent the time trying to look down her blouse.

Sitting in the barracks, freshly showered and dressed in black slacks and a red button-down, he still seemed larger than life. If he was upset or surprised by the turn of events, it didn't show. They introduced themselves, discussed the situation.

While they talked, he watched their body language. There was an informal hierarchy with Marilyn at the top and, presumably, the newest comer at the bottom. That wasn't going to work for him. His youthful insecurity, frosted with bravado, wouldn't allow it.

Manson, he noticed, leaned a little to the left, where Rabbit sat, spinning a loaned ring on his finger. When he brought a round of drinks from the fridge - an almost fatherly gesture - he gave Rabbit first pick. When he sat back down, the younger man shifted and there was a click when their shoes met. They'd fucked.

He played nice. They gave him an official tour, designated his bunk. Jeff offered to bring things he wanted. He only agreed to fetch some coke after being reminded that withdrawal can be an ugly thing to have in close quarters. Still, Antichrist kept his voice low and a polite smile on his face.

It was only a matter of time before they were alone. He was washing his hands in the restroom. It was a one-stall wonder with two urinals. Rabbit came in to use one and he took his time, mugging in the mirror.

“Who is it?” he asked casually.

“Huh?”

“Who's got you looking so sad?”

Antichrist leaned against the door and tilted his head. Rabbit rolled his eyes and zipped up. He moved to the sink. But Anti wasn't going to let it go.

“Girlfriend? Boyfriend? Mom and Dad?”

“Wife,” he sighed. “It’s pretty much over.”

“So she's a bitch.”

“It's not all her fault. We're not…  _ I'm _ not the easiest to live with. Getting married changed everything. Bridget needs more and I need to just let her go.”

He dried his hands and checked his hair in the mirror. He headed for the door but Antichrist didn't move. He reached for the handle, a hint to get out of the way. Instead, Anti cocked his head.

“You just need to take your mind off of it. And I know Marilyn  _ tried _ , but he didn't do the job. Did he?”

Rabbit scoffed and shook his head. But he didn't move away when Anti cupped his hand over his cheek. There was something wildly romantic about that long hair and sly smile. He'd mellowed with age, become soft and tender, but the face looking back at him was still cold steel.

The 90s had been so simple. The world was ripe and he deserved it. There was no such thing as too much. Rabbit wanted some of that, to let go of the complications, to connect to something free.

He let Antichrist pull him in and kiss him. It was rough and hot. The long fingers in his hair pulled until his neck was exposed. He yelped and sighed into a strong bite. A low growl echoed in the bathroom and his cock twitched.

Anti felt it, the slow settle as the man in his arms relaxed. The surge of power he felt was its own high. He nipped at Rabbit's collarbone, tore at the buttons on his shirt. He'd tasted his smooth skin, salt and sorrow, and he needed more.

Rabbit helped him, shedding his shirt and jeans. He hit his knees without being prompted and worked on the zipper in front of him. Despite the ten year age difference, he felt subordinate. Anti's cock lurched out, thick. He opened his mouth for it but a hand on his forehead stopped him.

“Manners…”

“Please,” Rabbit gasped, only then realizing how breathless he'd become. “May I have it?”

The hand moved and he took the head between his lips. It tasted so good. His tongue poured over it, to the base, taking in every familiar ridge. Fingers at the back of his head pushed hard, forcing the cock to the back of his throat. He gagged and pulled back, then smiled as it happened again.

Antichrist smirked as he made him choke. He could feel the struggle, the massage of his tongue. Rabbit's hands on his hips pulled gently, as willing and eager as any groupie. He kept his thrusts quick and uneven. No sense in being predictable.

The door jostled behind Anti's shoulders. There was a muffled voice, then a knock. Rabbit froze, only to be jerked back down, nose buried in the shock of dark hair.

“Occupied,” Antichrist called out, sing-song. “Use the little girls’ room.”

Whoever it was stopped knocking. The long fingers released Rabbit's head and he came up, sputtering. As soon as he caught his breath, Anti pulled him up by his hair and into another sloppy, demanding kiss. He submitted with a breathy moan.

Anti pushed him toward the sink. His bare foot slipped on a wet tile and he fell into the basin. Antichrist straightened him up and kicked his feet apart. He looked up into the mirror. A lock of his hair fell over his eye, down to his ruby lips.

“Gonna pop you open, babe,” the younger man hissed, spitting down his crack.

Rabbit sighed as the first finger slid in, yelped when it reached the knuckle. The second finger went in a little too early, sending a stinging pain up his spine. He stared at himself in the mirror, watched his lip tremble as the third finger broke through.

Antichrist was just patient enough. He pumped and curled his fingers to help Rabbit adjust. But as soon as he felt his ass loosen, he pulled them out and lined up. Another glob of spit seemed like enough mercy.

“Get ready to fall in love, slut.”

His cock was slow but insistent. Rabbit pushed back, watched his reflection give in. It felt amazing. The relentless stretch was delicious. He braced his hands against the mirror and let the sink take some of his weight. Anti leaned hard into him, forcing the last few inches in, and groaned.

He gripped the pale ass in front of him, digging his nails in. He fucked strong and savage, grinding against his ass at the depth of each stroke. Rabbit was tight, not quite slick enough, and clung to his cock as he moved. He spat on his fingers, slipped them around his shaft, then leaned forward and dug them into Rabbit's mouth.

“You wanna suck those?”

It wasn't a question. His full lips pursed around the fingers. He tried his best to obey, but it was hard to concentrate. Each stroke made him whimper. In the mirror, Anti dripped authority. His tight jaw and piercing eyes left no question. He owned the arched body under him.

He took his fingers back, but not before landing a wet slap on Rabbit's flushed cheek. He gave a few hard thrusts, knocking a squeal loose. It echoed through the restroom. Chuckling, he pulled out and yanked the other man upright.

“Such a sweet little slut,” he purred, gripping Rabbit's half-hard cock. “I'm gonna take care of you, babe. Nobody else is ever gonna hurt you again.”

Rabbit could feel the line of his nose behind his ear, nuzzling his hair. His heart was pounding. He wanted to melt into Antichrist's arms. He wanted to sit at his feet. He nodded.

“Good boy. Now why don't you get back down there and taste your ass?”

He backed up and let Rabbit turn around. He smirked as the older man knelt on the tile and swallowed his cock, gulping at it. The remnants of his lipstick, smeared to one side by Anti's fingers, rubbed off as he worked.

“Good boy,” Antichrist rumbled, tugging at his hair. “Goddamn, you're a nasty whore. I bet you'd do anything I ask.”

An excited hum and quickened pace told him all he needed to know. Rabbit smelled like vanilla monogamy but he wasn't gun shy. He just needed a firm hand to remind him. His enthusiasm threatened to open the floodgates of Anti's desires. But it wasn't the time or the place. He just needed to make a little introduction.

He shoved Rabbit back, flat on his ass on the cold floor. The look of shock on his powdered face was perfect.

“Up, whore. Back against the wall.”

He scrambled to obey. Antichrist looked him up and down. He poked and prodded, bringing a fresh blush to Rabbit's ears and throat. He rubbed his mouth, leaning obviously to look at his new submissive's cock, pink and proud.

“Show me how you hold it.”

Uncertain, he took his shaft in his hand. Anti slapped the head. The impact, and Rabbit's squeal, were loud. He gave the man a moment to recover, bent double and whining. Then he gently pushed him back into place.

“Show me.”

Sniffling, Rabbit held his cock out. He squeezed his eyes shut and waited for another slap. Antichrist didn't disappoint. This time, he was able to hold relatively still, allowing a series of stinging blows. Tears ran down his cheeks.

“Now show me how you stroke it.”

He licked his hand and winced as it ran over the head and down the length. His cock was now an angry red and near bursting. After a couple of minutes, his pleasure was apparent. He licked his lips and laid his free hand on the curve of his stomach. His breath came quick and shallow. Anti rubbed at his own impatient cock as he watched.

With a gasp, the older man let go. His thighs were trembling. He was close. Antichrist grabbed his bobbing cock instead and twisted like he was wringing out a washcloth. Rabbit curled up and cried out.

“Didn't say stop, slut. I'm disappointed.” He released his grip and stood back, hand on his hip. “How are you gonna make it up to me?”

Rabbit slowly stood. His face was ruined and he sounded like a wounded girl. But his posture, and his cock, were impressively straight. He was strong. He wasn't backing down. Biting his lower lip, he turned toward the wall and parted his legs. He looked like the cover of a prison porno.

Antichrist lubed him generously with spit and worked his fingers back in. It was for the bottom's benefit, but it wasn't charity. It was respect… or the next best thing.

Once his cock was deep inside of that firm ass, all bets were off. Anti's hands on his shoulders held Rabbit in place while he fucked him selfishly. They slammed together. The rhythmic grunts grew stronger as they both approached the peak.

“I like this ass, whore,” Antichrist growled. “I'm gonna use it whenever I want, however I want.”

Rabbit moaned and nodded. He kicked his hips out to take the pistoning cock even deeper. He trembled and reached back with one hand to grab at Anti's hips. He all but stopped breathing.

“That's it, you filthy cunt,” the top gasped. “Paint that fucking wall.”

His harsh language pushed them both over the edge. Rabbit rocked backward as he shot ropes of cum over the tiles. Antichrist held him up, pumping his load as deeply as possible. His throbbing cock pressed into his toy's sweet spot, milking him further.

As the shaking of their sweaty bodies slowed, Rabbit found his legs. They separated and fell apart, barely able to remember where they were. Antichrist pushed his long hair back and rubbed his face, trying to bring himself back into the moment. The other man slid to the floor.

After several minutes, Anti began to put himself back together. He checked his look in the mirror. Sexy. Dangerous. Perfect. On his way out, he bent down and stroked Rabbit's cheek.

“Only me,” he said softly. “Nobody else hurts you. Understand?”

Rabbit's weak, smiling nod was enough. He left him to recover. Cuddling wasn't exactly his style.

He whistled nonchalantly as he left the bathroom. Golden and Omega were sitting at the table with a deck of cards. They looked up at him.

“I'm gonna shower,” he sighed, gathering a change of clothes.

The seated men watched the restroom door. But Rabbit didn't come out. Anti headed for the hallway.

“Wait,” Omega said, holding up one hand. “Is he ok?”

Antichrist paused and turned back into the room. He flashed a smug grin and shrugged.

“How the fuck should I know?”


	5. Chapter 5

He wanted to put out an album. He had the lyrics ready. It would've been a campaign in a can, an inventory of discontent and a vision of personal freedom. It would've been his words in the way in which he'd always shared them. And even if he didn't appeal to the voters, he'd please his fans.

But noooo. Jeff said he needed to meet the people on their terms. That he needed to play the game. That he could play the game without sacrificing his integrity. And that may have been the case. But now it didn't matter.

He was stuck in a box made of white tile and linoleum with even worse versions of himself. It was like purgatory. Was it purgatory? Or hell? Had he died in the explosion? Was he now facing some sick justice for the sins he'd committed?

Just in case he wasn't… just in case it was real… he wanted to break Anti's fucking jaw.

The first punch knocked him back, into the wall. The younger man was stunned for a minute. Then, while Marilyn fumed, he wiped the blood from his lip and grinned.

“I guess he told you,” he chuckled. “Didn't mean to step on your toes there. I mean, it's not like he didn't want it. He was practically beg-”

Another hit to the face shut him up and one to the gut had him on the floor. He held his stomach with one arm and looked up, trying hard to maintain his smile. There was blood between his teeth.

“Ok,” Golden said softly, stepping between them. “That's it, Mar. No more.”

“You really ought to see someone about that anger,” Antichrist laughed, pulling himself back onto his feet. “I mean, you don't want to fly off the handle and nuke China because they… say… fucked somebody you couldn't satisfy.”

Manson narrowed his eyes. His fists were tight, shoulders tense. That pompous smirk reminded him of everyone he stomped on his way to the top, everyone he threw off the peak. It was the shadow of everything he hated about himself. Golden's hand on his chest kept him in the moment, for a moment.

Anti began to hum Hail to the Chief. He raised his hand in a mock salute. Marilyn lost it. He shoved Golden out of the way. One hand closed around the young man's shirtfront and the other made another pass across his face. His brow split, dribbling blood over his eye.

“Come see the violence inherent in the system!” Anti yelled, falling to his knees.

Several hands pulled Manson back. He dropped Anti's shirt and shrugged the others off. They let him go and he sat on one of the cots. Antichrist straightened his clothes and poured a glass of whiskey. He sat at the table. The others huddled by Marilyn.

“Goddamnit, we said we weren't going to tell him about the stupid campaign.”

“I didn't!”

“Well, he must've overheard or something.”

“I can fucking hear you!” Anti called out between sips. “I didn't do anything wrong, you know.”

Manson stood, took a few steps toward him and stopped.

“You took advantage,” he growled. “You cornered him and you used his vulnerability to hurt him.”

“Come on now. His asshole probably hurts, but that'll heal. Won't it, babe?” Anti leaned to the side and blew a kiss at Rabbit. “Show of hands! Who here hasn't fucked Rabbit?”

Omega raised his hand. Antichrist scoffed.

“Who here hasn't fucked Rabbit or sucked him off?”

With a sheepish look, Omega lowered his hand. He looked toward Rabbit, who was looking at his shoes. The jacket-clad man shook his head as though he wanted to interrupt but felt that he couldn't.

“Look. I get that you've been stuck here together, humping each other to pass the time. But you're not going steady, for fuck's sake. You can't get mad at me for throwing good dick.” He leaned toward Rabbit and took a sip. His voice lowered. “Did I hurt you, babe?”

“Yes. But that's what I tried to tell them.” Rabbit stood next to the table and rubbed his face. “You hurt me, but you didn't  _ harm _ me. You gave me something I needed. They just… I told them you didn't want me to play anymore and they got upset.”

“It’s ok, Babe… you misunderstood me. You can play all you want. But they,” he motioned to the others, “don't hurt you. If they do, you come to me. Understood?”

Rabbit grinned and nodded. Marilyn scoffed loudly and left the room, slamming the door behind him. Rabbit and Omega hung out on the cots, talking quietly. Golden mumbled something and poured his own glass of whiskey. He sat down.

“You know, this might not be the time or place to take on a pet. Just saying.”

Antichrist nodded solemnly and sighed, “You may be right. Then again, time and place don't mean jack shit to any of us, do they? So I guess I'll just do whatever the fuck I please... And the next person who takes a swing at me goes back in a fucking box.”

He spat a glob of blood into his glass and stood. Rabbit and Omega were done talking. They were lying side-by-side, their cots pushed together, kissing. Their light sighs and sensual movements were very  _ Danielle's Girlfriends _ . He pulled his chair over for a better view.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could make out Golden's face. His high-contrast makeup made it clear that he wore an all-too-familiar expression. The fear and disgust seen on protesters at his shows had followed him there.

What had he done to turn his future selves against him? He was the same provocative bastard they claimed to be. He had the same motives and methods. Maybe he liked a bit of coke now and then, and maybe he'd started some fires. Maybe he didn't wear his heart on his sleeve. Maybe he was a dog and pony show, empty threats and dumb luck.

But whatever he was, they were. Somewhere, at some point, they had been something like him. Their pretentious bullshit stuck in his craw. If they wanted to be disgusted, he'd show them disgusting. If they wanted to be afraid, he'd give them something to fear.

Omega and Rabbit had undressed but were still going slowly. Their limbs entwined, birch-white and patterned. They nibbled and sucked one another's necks and shoulders. They were sweet, giving. Anti adjusted the beginnings of an erection in his pants.

Rabbit looked over Omega's shoulder. He locked eyes with Antichrist and glanced at his hand, absentmindedly sitting on his bulge. He leaned into the redhead's ear and whispered. Omega shook his head and whispered back. Rabbit smiled but his eyes were disappointed.

Anti wasn't invited to join. That was ok. His toy could use a reminder of what the others couldn't do.

Omega felt a little guilty for saying no. But there was no way he was letting Antichrist touch him. Not after seeing Rabbit on the floor of the bathroom, dazed and weeping, leaking cum. It was one thing to be fucked full and need some time to recover. That was much more, and it was disturbing.

To make up for his refusal, Omega rose up on his knees and gripped Rabbit's cock. He sucked it down, to the root, gagging softly. His tongue pressed in all the right places and brought out a dainty moan. He raked his teeth down the length, a move he knew the other man loved. Rabbit sat up like a bullet.

“No teeth,” he said quickly, then, “please. Let me do you.”

Anti chuckled at his toy's resolve to save his pain. Omega glanced at him uncomfortably while Rabbit moved him to his back. He wasn't jerking off or menacing, just watching calmly. His look of mild disinterest was strange. Even with Rabbit's head bobbing on his cock, he couldn't seem to relax.

Rabbit came up for air. He wiped his mouth and stroked Omega's cheek.

“Are you ok?”

“Don’t tell me you're shy” Antichrist laughed. “I thought your ass was like the town bicycle.”

Omega's face went pink. He opened his mouth to say something, then turned away. There was a scraping sound as Golden stood up at the table. Anti decided to head them off at the pass.

“I'm gonna take a walk,” he announced, heading for the door. “Swallow, babe.”

Once the door closed, Omega and Golden breathed a sigh of relief. Rabbit gave the cock in his hand a little squeeze. The redhead smiled at him.

“I'm ok now, gorgeous,” he sighed.

He pulled Rabbit into a kiss, rubbing their bodies together. Soon they were both moaning softly again, stroking one another's cocks. Their light touches and gentle lips had them melting together.

Rabbit went back to work on Omega's length, bringing him back to full mast with his tongue. He kept going, the redhead's fingers in his hair. He choked himself on it, just a little, and drew circles over his entrance. The rising pitch of Omega's moans told him when to stop.

He raised his head, licking the spit and precum from his mouth. He let Omega roll him over, taking his spot. His metallic pink lips were soft and slick. He pressed them all the way down. Rabbit let out a breathy curse.

While he lavished his skills on the older man's cock, Omega wrapped his hand around his own. He tried to keep pace, bringing them both to a peak. His moans were muffled. Rabbit rolled his hips, thrusting slowly.

“I'm so close,” he panted. “Will you cum in my mouth?”

Omega lifted his head. He was flushed and his breath was ragged. He moved toward Rabbit, angling his dripping cock toward his face. It didn't take much. A few strong licks, a little suction, and he was over the edge.

Rabbit grabbed at his cock and stroked it quickly. The pulsing length in his mouth was too much. As Omega flooded his mouth with cum, his own climax hit like a train. He swallowed feverishly and splattered his own chest and stomach.

There was a slippery sound as Omega buckled onto his torso. He could feel the flat of his tongue dragging through the mess. Rabbit gulped for air. He leaned down and wiped at the white smudges on the redhead's face.

“You're getting sticky,” he giggled.

“I'll be sticky with you anytime, babe.”

Rabbit leaned back and let him play. Omega was beautiful, truly. He was lithe and prissy and kind. But kindness wasn't on Rabbit's mind. He was thinking of cold steel. He was thinking of harsh slaps and not enough lube.

“Did you hear me?”

“Hmm?”

Omega flopped next to him and gave an exaggerated sigh.

“I said, I'm glad we got to play. You don't have to do anything you don't wanna do. Ok? Don't let Antichrist bully you. Now what are you gonna do?”

His tone was leading. Rabbit rolled his eyes and smiled.

“Whatever I want.”


	6. Chapter 6

An uneasy truce had settled over the group. Antichrist wasn't going anywhere. None of them were. They were going to be sharing the barracks for days, weeks… maybe longer. Warfare wasn't an option.

Ignoring him was also not an option. Rabbit had fallen hard. Anti was the nightmare of his dreams. Like a smitten teenager, he wanted the freedom to kiss and touch whenever they wanted. Like a teenager's family, the rest just bit their tongues and hoped it would blow over.

They were trying not to acknowledge the fact that Antichrist was holding him in his lap, occasionally tugging his hair to demand a kiss. Jeff had taken pity on them and ordered pizza. It was delicious and unadvisable, like the men eating it. They picked at the last few slices.

Jeff slipped through the door, pushing it closed, and cleared his throat. Manson tossed his head back and groaned. It had been long enough since Anti showed up that they'd all hoped the influx was over. Even Dr. Sanbell thought that the nexus might be stabilizing. The look on Jeff's face said it hadn't.

“New guy?” Golden asked, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

“Yes, sir. 2012, just after the Born Villain release.” He turned to Marilyn. “He'd like to meet you first, sir. Alone.”

Manson nodded and followed him into the hallway. The spectre that met him there was eerie. Other than the spiked leather jacket and longer hair combed down toward his eyes, they looked nearly identical. The newcomer slowly raised a hand and poked him in the chest.

“Ok,” he sighed. “So this is legit happening. And you're from 2020?”

“I am,” Marilyn smiled. “Welcome to my universe, I guess. Sorry about this.”

“No, it's cool. I mean, it's trippy as fuck, but it is what it is… How many of us are there?”

“Six now. The others have taken nicknames related to their most recent albums. Makes it less confusing. I gotta warn you. We've been in close quarters for a while now and… well, a man's got needs, if you know what I mean.”

His mouth hung open for a second. He chuckled and covered his face in the most adorable way, then shook his head.

“Ok,” he laughed. “Thanks for the heads up. Don't get me wrong, it's fucked up and you're all going to your respective hells for it, but I get it. Come on, introduce me to my selves.”

Manson introduced him as Villain and no one objected. He recognized everyone but Omega… There was no Mechanical Animals album where he hailed from. At least he hadn't married a porn star.

He seemed particularly interested in the apparent relationship between Anti and Rabbit, and the obvious hostility it brought out in Marilyn. It was fascinating that their dynamic was so emotional, despite the group's assurances that they only played to alleviate boredom.

Jeff brought another cot and other supplies. The room looked more and more like a barracks with every new addition. He also brought a box of other requested items: beef jerky, a few books, and a large bottle of lubricant, which Omega was all too happy to receive.

“When are we gonna get a tv?” Rabbit whined, arm around Antichrist's neck. “I wanna watch Wrong Cops, see if it's something worth doing.”

“I'm sorry,” Jeff sighed. “Dr. Sanbell still won't clear it. She's worried that large unshielded electronics could have negative effects. Look, she's doing the best she can. At least you have mp3 players.”

A grumble went through the room. Jeff rubbed his temples. He looked like a substitute teacher dealing with a bunch of 6th graders. To his credit, he was dealing with this insanity much better than anyone else would've. No wonder Manson kept him on so long.

Once he'd gone, Villain and Antichrist struck up a conversation about stagnation and redemption. They were predictably opinionated, but not always in agreement. They were both at a point of embracing their darkness in their own ways.

The others sat with books and headphones, but there was no muffled bass, no page turning. They were listening. The men debated civilly and laughed together. It was almost as if Anti was suddenly a different person. Or as if he wasn't the person they assumed him to be.

Rabbit had slid off of Antichrist's lap and was sitting at the end of the table, nursing a drink. Villain glanced at him surreptitiously. He was lovely, but more than that, he was wide open. The way he looked at Anti left no doubts about how he felt or what he was prepared to do.

“I don't mind,” the youngest man grinned, pulling his long hair behind his shoulder. “That is, if he doesn't mind.”

Villain shot him a confused look. He hadn't realized that his glances had become longer and more obvious, or that Rabbit had begun to return them. Antichrist shrugged and leaned back in his chair.

“You can touch him, if he wants you to.”

Rabbit blushed and hid a smile behind his fingers. Villain mirrored that shyness. He shook his head. But his eyes kept returning to Rabbit's adorable pout.

“What do you say, Bunny?” Anti smirked. “Do you want the nice man to touch you?”

“Yes,” he replied, blushing deeper. He turned toward Villain. “Or I can touch you, if you like. As long as you don't hurt me, we can do anything you want.”

Villain shifted in his seat. Rabbit moved his chair closer, put his hand on the table. The rougher, guitar-calloused fingers closed around it. He smiled and reached for the newcomer's knee.

“It's ok if you don't want to.”

Villain squeezed his hand and gave a lopsided smile. He pulled Rabbit into a gentle vodka-flavored kiss. The hand on his knee slid up his inner thigh. The other pressed against his chest. Momentum built between them and their breath quickened.

Rabbit kissed down his jawline, to his neck. He shed his jacket and shirt, let those painted lips leave a red trail all over his skin. They paused at his nipples and ran a trail toward his waistband. He glanced toward the cots.

Omega wasn't even pretending anymore. His hand was stuffed down the front of his pants. Golden, with book still in hand, was watching as well. It was thrilling to be on display.

By the time the younger man worked his leather pants open, he was stiff. There was a gasp as his pierced cock leapt out. He shuddered as Rabbit licked the head, then took his length to the back of his throat. His tongue tripped along the barbells that lined the underside. His gagging sounds and refusal to back away were perfect. Villain hadn't felt such eager submission in years.

He closed his eyes and sighed deeply. A second pair of lips on his made him start. Antichrist had come around the table. His long fingers toyed with Villain’s hair and ran over his chest. Rabbit kept going, licking and sucking his cock. It was decadent.

“Stand up for me,” Anti murmured into his ear, tongue sneaking out to tease.

Rabbit gave him room to get on his feet. The two of them quickly stripped him down and shed their own clothes. He let Antichrist wrap his arms around him from behind. Teasing lips made their way over his shoulders.

Rabbit returned to his task, flicking his tongue against the Jacob's Ladder. It was unreal, almost like licking a toy. He made a conscious effort not to click the jewelry against his teeth as he sucked Villain's cock back down.

There was movement by the cots. Omega had seen the flash of silver and was intrigued. He cautiously made his way to the group. He'd stripped down to his ridiculous hair and soft skin. He locked eyes with Villain and bit the pad of his thumb. It was a question and Villain nodded his answer.

With a big dumb grin, Omega knelt next to Rabbit. He was giddy at the novelty of a pierced cock. No other version - so far - had dared to try it. He made a mental note to look into it. In the meantime, he gently stroked and tasted the flesh in front of him.

Rabbit moved to give him better access. He lavished attention on Villain's balls and inner thighs, smiling at the twitches and sighs he elicited. Eventually, he made his way back. Omega was nice enough to share and they both mouthed at the cock between them. Villain tangled his hands in their hair.

“Look at those sluts down there,” Anti chuckled, rubbing at his nipples. “They love that dick. You gonna give it to 'em? Or do you bottom?”

“Never bottomed before,” Villain rasped. “Can I…”

“Just don't hurt my Bunny. Tear Omega in half if you want. He's not mine.”

They laughed for a moment and the men on the floor looked up. Their eyes were wide. He couldn't choose who would be first. Instead he thought he'd let them sort it out.

“We're gonna need lube.”

Both men were on their feet and across the room like a shot. They dallied by Omega's cot, whispering. Golden watched and listened. He'd put his book down. When they returned, there were three of them.

Golden brazenly grabbed at Villain's cock, slipping his lubed hand over it. When it was good and slick, he turned to Rabbit, who had bent over the table. Rubbing his lower back, he slipped a finger inside and began to prep him.

Anti climbed onto the table and wedged himself under his pet. He stroked his hair and whispered filthy nothings. Rabbit moaned and sighed as two, then three fingers worked his ass open. It was slow and the others watched, stroking.

“Ok,” he finally said in a strained voice. He looked over his shoulder at Villain. “Please fuck me.”

With a deep sigh, the latter gently wedged the head of his cock into place. Rabbit shuddered under him. He felt the round buds of the first barbell press against him. He pushed back, let it slip inside. It was strange and amazing. Villain sank deeper and deeper and Rabbit counted the piercings… 2, 3, 4, 5, 6.

When the decorated length began to move, Rabbit gasped and jumped. The barbells massaged his sweet spot and rippled in and out of him. It was unlike anything else.

“Does it hurt?” Antichrist asked, gently caressing his plaything's cheek.

“No,” he gulped. “It feels good. It's rubbing-”

His eyes rolled back and the rest of the thought was lost. He moaned desperately and clung to Anti's thighs. The dominant leaned as close as he could, his hair falling forward.

“Don't cum, babe. You get close, you tell me.”

Despite his reservations about the relationship between Anti and Rabbit, Golden had to admit that the interaction was hot. Their rules were simple and both were dedicated to them and each other.

Omega was on the floor again, servicing Golden while he watched. He reached behind himself and stroked his entrance, eager to feel the unique texture of Villain's piercings. As Rabbit's voice rose and Villain began to groan, he plunged two fingers inside.

“No-no-no-wait-wait,” Rabbit cried suddenly, slurring, reaching back to stop the man behind him. “I can't…”

“Good boy.”

Anti pulled him up into a steamy kiss. Villain let him go, panting. He turned toward Omega. The redhead had heard the exchange and was rock hard in anticipation. He bent over the end of the table, wiggling his hips.

Villain smeared more lube over his length and tested Omega's readiness with two fingers. He couldn't claim to be surprised that the sassy slut didn't need much coaxing. His cock slid in easily but Omega bucked and squealed anyway.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck,” he chanted, pushing back against the unfamiliar sensation.

Villain held still and ran his hands over the trembling body beneath him. He leaned down and planted tender kisses between Omega's shoulder blades.

“It's ok,” he said softly. “I'll go slow and you can tell me to stop anytime. I don't want to hurt you.”

Omega looked over his shoulder. His cheeks were bright pink. He licked his lips and smiled.

“Don't worry about me,” he purred. “I can take whatever you give me. Just don't tear your jewelry.”

Spurred on by the bottom’s confidence, Villain set a steady pace. Each stroke tugged at his piercings just enough. He’d been close when Rabbit asked him to stop. Now he was building quickly back to that peak.

Under Omega's decadent moans, he could hear Antichrist's rough grunts. He'd moved Rabbit to his back on the floor. He was fucking him hard, pinching his nipples viciously. Golden was on his knees. His cock, stuffed into Rabbit's mouth, muffled the screams.

Omega broke into a whining moan and slammed his ass back. Villain pounded him through his spasms as he spilled his cum across the linoleum. He slumped forward onto the table and let the top finish, fucking deeply into him until he came.

Villain dropped into a chair and pulled Omega into his lap. They kissed breathlessly. A few feet away, the others had crashed into a sticky pile. Anti was holding Rabbit's head in his lap, his hand on Golden's leg.

From his cot, Marilyn stewed. Somehow, Antichrist had tricked his way into the group. The rest felt comfortable enough to play alongside him. But Manson couldn't forgive him for taking Rabbit's affection. He couldn't accept him, knowing what he might be capable of doing.

Most of all, he couldn't let him know about the fresh cumstain on his sheets.


	7. Chapter 7

“Look, I already fucking told you.”

Dr. Sanbell wrote his blood pressure down and took a deep breath. The man in front of her didn't belong and she needed to figure out why. She checked his pupil dilation again.

“I'm so sorry,” she said. “I'm sorry that this happened. I'm sorry that I have to run all of these tests. And I'm sorry that I keep asking the same questions. I'm just trying to figure this out.”

He sighed. She was being nice, and she was his only way back. He rubbed his eyes. There was something she needed to know, something he needed to remember, but neither of them knew what it was. All he could do was try to give details and hope something mattered.

“I was in the shop,” he began again. “I just finished changing a set of plugs on a shitty black ‘92 Camry. The phone rang and I answered. It was Charlie, asking if I had room for a tow, a Chevy that he thought needed a fuel pump. I said I needed to clear the bay but to go ahead and bring it over.

“I hung up the phone. I grabbed the clipboard for the Camry and took it into the office. I dropped it on the desk. John came in. He was pissed off, needed a VIN wipe. I told him I had a tow coming in and I'd do it as soon as Charlie left.

“Then it was like I blinked and I was here. No bright lights, no sounds, just there one second and here the next. I didn't have anything in my hands. The only equipment in the room was a phone, my laptop, the printer and an old radio.”

The doctor jotted down the new details and smiled. She let him relax for a bit. They were waiting for Jeff. He asked a handful of questions about the government, historical events and movies. But he'd calmed down quite a bit in the hours since his arrival.

Finally, Jeff appeared, a box of supplies in his hands. He put the box down when he saw the new addition. The latter stood up and ran his hand through his brunette hair.

“Holy shit, John. You got sucked in too? Thank fuck. At least I know somebody.”

“I'm sorry… I think you have me confused with someone else. I'm Jeff.”

“Brian,” he said politely, extending his hand. “Sorry about that. I'm not used to this Star Trek shit. You just look exactly like this guy I know.”

Jeff seemed uncomfortable. That made sense. Knowing there's someone out there somewhere, living a very different life with your face, was beyond strange. He had a firm handshake.

“Pleasure to meet you, Brian,” he said. “I need to speak with Dr. Sanbell for a moment, if you don't mind. Then we'll get you settled in.”

They stepped into the hallway and seemed to take forever. Brian tapped his foot, then got up and wandered. The machine, the cause of the whole mess, was interesting. It looked more complicated than a Mercedes and probably took a lot longer to troubleshoot. The doc said it exploded. If that was true, she'd done a damn good job putting it back together.

Dr. Sanbell came back into the room. Through the open door, he saw Jeff heading down a hallway. It was weird to see John's twin in a suit.

“Jeff is going to let the others know you're coming,” the doctor smiled. “We've found that's the best way to do an introduction. I just want to let you know a few more things while he does that.

“No one goes to the barracks but Jeff, for privacy reasons. He works for Mr. Manson, the version of you in this universe. We all trust him implicitly. He's never shared any non-essential information with me, and he's handled the media. But you need to know that Mr. Manson… that is…

“The timelines we've seen are very similar to one another, except for yours. The others are musicians, different ages but on similar career paths and with similar histories. For the most part, they have shared experiences and know one another to some degree. But they won't know you, and you won't know them.

“I'm not sure why you're an outlier, why you're here. My working theory was that the emotional energy surrounding their album releases and tours drew them in. I just don't know how you fit in. And they might not either. It's not going to be easy to meet them.”

“They're as ready as they're going to be,” Jeff sighed from the doorway. “If you're ready.”

Brian shrugged and followed down the halls. There were a few turns, but everything looked the same. It was like a hospital, clean and white and boring. Jeff stopped at a door labeled 615. He paused, then opened it wide. Brian followed him inside.

Sitting at a table and on foldaway beds, leaned against the wall, were six men in makeup. They all had dyed hair, some long, some cut like a girl's. One was in fucking sparkly red spandex. It had to be the wrong room, some kind of practical joke.

“Who the fuck are these fairies?” he asked, turning back to Jeff.

“Brian, let me introduce you to the others.” The men raised their hands as he spoke. “In chronological order, Antichrist, Omega, Golden, Rabbit, Villain and Marilyn. Marilyn, or Mr. Manson, is the original inhabitant of this universe. The rest arrived the same way you did.”

Brian was squinting at the cartoon characters in front of him. He could see the resemblance, at least in Marilyn and Villain. They were closer to his age, he figured. And their makeup wasn't so heavy. Jeff broke the uncomfortable silence by clapping his hands.

“So, the box I dropped off earlier. Did I forget anything?”

Anti approached and leaned toward Jeff.

“I thought I told you to bring two eight-balls,” he said softly but with authority. “There was only one.”

“And we agreed that you'd stretch it farther.” Jeff mirrored his energy. “With your… proclivities… one would think that getting coke dick would be a concern. I'd hate to see Rabbit disappointed.”

Antichrist's eyes flashed. He took a deep breath and smiled. He raised a finger, paused, then turned and headed for the fridge.

“Is there anything I can bring you, Brian?” Jeff asked, turning toward him. “As long as you're a guest, we want you to be comfortable.”

“I could use a beer and a burger… a clean shirt… pack of smokes.”

“I’m afraid I can't let you smoke. There's no way to get you outside and the fire suppression system would go off if you smoked inside. We can do an electronic cigarette, patches, gum or addiction medication. The rest is definitely doable.”

Brian huffed, but he couldn't argue. He placed his order and stood awkwardly, watching Jeff leave. One of the men came toward him and held out a glass.

“Whiskey,” Golden offered. “I know Jeff's bringing you beer, but he might be a while.”

He took the glass and rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly feeling like the odd man out. He followed to the table and sat down. The drink was cold and tasted good.

“Listen,” Brian said, going a bit pink in the face. “I'm sorry about what I said. What a man does on his own time is his business. Doesn't matter what he looks like, he deserves respect.”

“It's ok,” Golden said, sipping his own drink. “You sound like you never left Ohio. Probably grew up hearing it around town.”

“Not an excuse,” Brian sighed. “My old man was an asshole. I swore I wouldn't be one, but he still falls out of my mouth from time to time.”

“For the record, I think 'fairy’ is kinda cute,” Omega giggled. “I'm sure if your dad saw me in this getup, he'd have worse words than that.”

“He's not my dad… Mom and Dad died in ‘83. I ended up fostered. Gloria tried to do right by me. But Hank was just a mean son of a bitch. Drank too damn much. Made me quit band when he found out the teacher was black. Found out I wrote a school essay on  _ Consenting Adult _ and broke my arm in two places. It was either parrot him or get the shit kicked out of me. But I knew it was wrong.”

Villain flopped into an empty chair with a soda and a box of Oreos. He handed each man a cookie like a trailer park communion. At least they all had similar tastes. It wasn't much, but it was a start.

Brian was a bit of a curiosity. The others wanted to know what life could've been like if things had been truly different. They seemed in awe of his simplicity.

He worked as a mechanic, lived in the back of the shop and had a beer every night. He'd gotten engaged at 20 to Anne Snyder when the test came back positive, and broke it off when she lost it. He hadn't really dated much since. He hadn't traveled. He hadn't learned guitar. His world was largely wrenches and rent.

Still, the parallels were there. He had a white cat that slept on his chest. He wrote and painted, albeit in secret. He jerked off a lot and had a handful of tattoos and hadn't set foot in a church since he was old enough to refuse. He was smart and charming in a rough, unused way. He belonged after all.

The dissection of Brian's normality devolved into a card game. He only played poker and Golden only played rummy, so Omega taught them Go Fish. He tried to sneak in a stripping rule but the others looked warily at the new man and declined.

Jeff came back with beer and burgers, fresh clothes and nicotine gum. Brian thanked him, then Marilyn. He didn't want to seem stiff, but he wasn't used to accepting help. Worse, there was no way to repay it.

The burgers were great, the gum like bitter chalk. The beer made him feel like he could open his eyes and be back home. Maybe he'd fallen asleep in the chair, Milo on his lap. Maybe some sci-fi movie on the TV had bled through to his subconscious. Maybe none of it was real.

But maybe it was. His full stomach felt real. The cot was firm, pillow soft. He could hear the other men breathing. One of them was listening to music and he could just hear the soft, tinny guitar. It was a lot of detail for a dream.

Then there was this feeling, nagging like a fly in a window, that he was there for a reason... even if the reason was to realize he could be understood for who he really was.


	8. Chapter 8

There was no good way to kick Brian out. There was no good place to go without arousing suspicion. So they milled about, chewing on PopTarts and staring at one another's morning wood.

Jeff raised an eyebrow when he walked in. The men were dressed, had eaten, and were just sitting around. They all looked a little tense. He made eye contact with Marilyn and years of reading his expressions paid off.

Brian was straight and no one wanted to tell him they were all fucking.

He stifled a smile and led the growing procession to the lab. The tests took considerably longer than normal. Dr. Sanbell had questions for everyone. They poured over their last minutes in their home universes and she scribbled notes. Still amused at the group's secret frustration, Jeff walked them back to their wing of the lab.

“Would it be ok if I washed up?” Brian asked. “I probably smell like burning oil and ass.”

“Of course,” Jeff grinned. “Let me show you to the showers.”

He stood patiently as Brian gathered a change of clothes. He suggested other things the new man might like to see while they were out and about. He winked at Manson on the way out the door.

“I gotta give him a raise,” Marilyn sighed as soon as the door closed. He pointed toward the restroom. “I'm gonna go take care of-”

“Oh, no, you're not,” Omega interrupted. “You haven't been playing with me and I miss you. If you just don't wanna play, that's one thing, but… if it's me…”

“It's not you.”

“Good!” he giggled, hooking his fingers through Manson’s belt loops.

He started to protest, but the way Omega slid down his legs made his mouth water. In moments the slender, orange-polished fingers were feeding his cock between those lips. He hadn't felt anything but his own hand in so long. An exaggerated moan broke through.

The moan caught Antichrist's attention. He was sitting on his cot, Rabbit's sucking mouth between his thighs. He kept a firm hand in his toy's hair but watched Manson from the corner of his eye. He'd never seen the older man's pleasure.

Villain and Golden we're also watching, eyes darting from one blowjob to the other. Their hands were on their own cocks. After a few minutes, though, they reached for one another. As far as either knew, they were both tops. It didn't matter. They needed fingers and deep kisses and found them.

Marilyn pulled out of Omega's mouth with a pop. The redhead looked up, pouting. He was so beautiful and the desire to ruin him was overwhelming.

“You want Daddy to fuck you?” Manson rasped.

Omega squealed and practically tore his clothes off. He pulled Marilyn to the cots by his wrists. His hair fell into his face as he rolled onto the mattress and folded in half. His knees nearly touched his chest. He reached down to slick his entrance with spit while Manson lined up.

After a few exploratory plunges, Marilyn put his full weight into it. Omega bit his lip and whined. His whole body rocked and jerked with every thrust. His warmth rippled and clenched. Manson took his frustration out on his ass, grunting through grinding teeth.

Rabbit's squeals added to the orchestra. Anti had rolled him onto his side on the cot. One foot was hooked over his top's shoulder as he forced his cock into that tight ass. His eyes were cold, grip hot and hard. Rabbit grabbed at the sheets, tearing them off of the bed.

Golden couldn't take it. He had a tight grip on Villain's length and was panting into his mouth. He'd seen both Rabbit and Omega take the cock in his hand. He wanted it. He had no idea what it would be like. He hadn't bottomed in at least five years. But he didn't care. He stripped down, snatched Omega's lube and shoved it into Villain's hand.

“It's been a long time,” he said softly, tossing a pillow onto the table and bending over it. “But don't go too slow. Brian won't be gone much longer.”

Villain mumbled something in response and applied plenty of lube to his fingers. He teased and pressed. Golden bore down, so turned on by the show in front of him. He relaxed into it, began to fuck himself back onto the fingers inside of him.

When he finally felt Villain's cock at his entrance, he gasped and hummed. The head slipped in, then the barbells. They were something like the ribs on a condom, but the comparison was dim. The top began to move at a steady pace, taking care to press and rub over the right spot.

Compared to the men on the cots, Villain's pace was positively gentle. Marilyn seemed intent on destroying Omega's ass with quick, deep thrusts that had the redhead's cock leaking over his stomach. Rabbit sounded like a murder in progress as he took a hard pounding.

“That’s it, slut,” Anti muttered, licking Rabbit's ankle. “I'm gonna breed this ass, pump you so full of my filthy cum. Tighten up that fuck hole and milk it out of me.”

Antichrist's trademark obscenity did the trick. Rabbit arched, went quiet, and shook violently. He sprayed the sheets. His face was buried in his elbow and he began to sob. Anti grabbed his chin, yanked his face upward and spat into his open mouth. It only took a few more thrusts and he fell too, groaning like an animal, releasing deep inside.

Marilyn didn't want to admit it, but Antichrist's cruelty was hot. Even more, the way they both came like an atom bomb boiled his blood. He slammed his cock into the skinny white body underneath him, right on the edge. He reached for Omega's length, massaged it like it was his own.

They hit the peak together, moaning a duet. The way Omega was rolled up meant that his cum arched over his chest and splattered his face. His spasming heat was incredible. Having had nothing but his hand since Anti's arrival, Manson had so much pent up desire. He unleashed it, giving hard, shuddering strokes long after he finished.

Villain didn't last much longer. Golden was tight and hot, his head down, whimpering in the most delicious way. The top began a rising moan in the back of his throat and spilled, squeezing his hips and working out a series of shallow thrusts. He pulled back, seeing stars, and sat down before he fell.

Golden stood, turned and leaned against the pillow-padded table. He pawed at his half-hard cock, bringing it to attention. Omega joined him, moving to the floor, still covered in his own mess. He opened his mouth wide, begging. Golden obliged him in a matter of minutes, slinging ropes of cum across his lips and tongue.

Marilyn and Anti had already been to the restroom to clean up. Rabbit was headed that direction, wobbling, clothes in hand. The rest followed as they were able, knowing it would be the best place to be if Brian and Jeff returned suddenly.

Manson stepped out the door to act as lookout. Antichrist followed, to his annoyance. He decided the best course of action would be to ignore the lanky shadow and keep his eyes on the bend in the hall.

“Look, I get that I'm an asshole,” the young man said, clearing his throat. “But this can't just be about that. And we might be stuck here for months.”

Marilyn rubbed his mouth, pretended not to listen.

“It was fun to fuck with you at first, mess up your little hierarchy. But that's not why I'm fucking Rabbit. I'm fucking him for him, not for you. And I'm bored with this little feud.”

Silence.

“I don't know what you think I did. But whatever it was, it wasn't me. It was you. If you wanna be a little bitch about it, project your own regrets, then fine. But I'm not going soft for your benefit.”

The hall was getting hot. The longer Anti's words hung unacknowledged in the air, the more exasperated he sounded. He chuckled wryly.

“Fine. I'll tell you what we're gonna do. I'm gonna run through the ranks of your little tribe of lost boys. I'm gonna fuck ‘em so hard they won't wanna go back. And you're gonna watch with your limp dick in your hand.”

He grabbed Manson by the shoulder and pushed him up against the wall. They were both fuming. Anti leaned close, his breath against the older man's neck.

“You wanna hate me, I'll give you something to hate.”

“Can I help with anything, sir?”

Jeff's polite question had a thread of tension. He wasn't angry or defensive, merely ready. Anti turned to face him and smiled.

“Just talking. I think I'm gonna take a walk, stretch my legs.”

He stepped forward, pushing his hair out of his face. Jeff blocked his way, glancing at Marilyn for direction. The boss shook his head and he stepped aside. Brian was standing a few feet behind, eyebrows raised.

“I'm not gonna ask,” he said softly. “Just don't pull me into it.”

He headed inside, leaving Manson and Jeff to discuss whatever the hell that was. The other men were hanging out, broad smiles plastered on their faces. Omega was reapplying his makeup at the table. Rabbit was laid out on his cot, panting like he'd run a marathon. He didn't want to ask about that, either.

“So,” he said lightly, grabbing a beer from the fridge, “you guys just watch a lot of TV or…”

“No TV,” Golden sighed. “Sanbell is worried it might mess with the machine. We get music, cards, and… uh… discussion.”

“They bring any girls up here?” Brian chuckled.

“Ew. No.” Omega wrinkled his nose.

“We don't want word leaking out,” Villain said quickly, sitting down. “No visitors, no media. Jeff has told everyone that Marilyn just isn't well. That's worked so far.”

Brian looked toward the closed door and leaned in closer to the others.

“That Jeff… Any of you know him? You know, in your own worlds?”

“Sure,” Villain said, adjusting his hair. “I mean, I do. I hired him back around, I dunno, 2002 maybe.”

“Same for me,” Golden nodded. He leaned over and raised his voice. “Hey, Rabbit! You got yourself a Jeff back home?”

The nearly-comatose man gave a thumbs-up and rolled over, muttering something. They waited to see if he'd say anything else, but there were no more signs of life.

“Ok, this is gonna sound stupid, but it's grating on me,” Brian continued. “You all have a Jeff, so maybe it's just meant to be. I don't have a Jeff. I mean, I do, but his name's John. Smart, loyal and a mean motherfucker. When I called him John yesterday, he looked at me weird. I figured, ok, entirely different person. But a minute ago in the hallway, I swear to Christ, he was John.”

Villain shrugged and Golden nodded, as if it was old news.

“Yeah, he can seem intimidating,” the former said. “He was originally security for me. I took him as an assistant because he's always on time and keeps his mouth shut.”

“Doesn't ask questions,” Golden continued,” can fix anything. I've seen him put a sound board back together.”

“That's nothing,” Villain laughed. “One time he hotwired an eighteen-wheeler that was parked in front of the bus and moved it out of the way.”

“He disabled my house alarm when I was too wasted to remember the code.”

“He snuck a groupie out of my hotel room, past my ex, in a suitcase.”

Brian laughed. He shook his head and took a sip of his beer.

“I've seen him with a girl in a suitcase too,” he chuckled. “I mean, if John is my Jeff.”

“Oh, yeah?” Golden grinned, fetching a soda from the fridge. “Where was he sneaking her?”

“Just to his car… then about 30 minutes to Portage Lakes.”

“Took her skinny dipping?” Omega smirked.

“Nope. Had to dump the body.”

The men stopped and stared incredulously at Brian. They hoped he was joking. The serious look on his face said he wasn't.

“All I'm saying is, are you sure Jeff isn't your John?”


	9. Chapter 9

John was a bag man when he first met him. It's not the kind of work you expect to find in Canton. But where there are businesses in bad neighborhoods, there's protection money to be had. Brian couldn't blame him. He accepted the cost of business.

The problems came when they got too familiar. John started coming to the shop between collections. They talked, had a few beers, became friends. Brian was pulled in. He helped with under-the-table repairs, replaced VIN numbers and falsified paperwork.

Within a few months, he was going on disposal runs and acting as driver after shady deals. He saw things he shouldn't have let happen. He kept violent secrets. But it didn't matter. He was doing it for John, for their friendship.

“Now, when you say 'friendship,’” Omega smiled, his chin on his folded hands, “do you mean friendship, or do you mean  _ friendship _ ?”

Villain nudged him under the table. They were trying to let Brian make his case, not make silly speculations. If Jeff was John, it would be pertinent information, not only during their stay in the barracks, but when they made it home.  

“It’s not that far-fetched,” Rabbit sighed, sitting down with a bottle of water. “He can kick ass, pick locks, find loopholes… I had him dismember a couch with a chainsaw once. Who in LA even knows how to start a real chainsaw?”

“That doesn't mean he cut up bodies for the mob,” Omega groaned. “You ran a background check, right?”

“Not on venue security, princess.” Golden kept his eyes on Brian, hoping to catch a sign of dishonesty. “But why would he come work for us? Like, a spy thing?”

“I have no idea,” Brian sighed. “John wouldn't switch loyalties lightly. But you said he's worked for Manson for fifteen years. Something must have happened.”

The door opened and all five of them turned. Antichrist stopped and let the door close slowly. He narrowed his eyes at the group. His words were slow and measured.

“What did the candidate say?”

“Marilyn? Nothing.” Rabbit shook his head. “He hasn't been back.”

“Well, I didn't see him out there,” Anti muttered, going for the whiskey. “Probably sucking Jeff's cock in a broom closet. Sanctimonious asshole…”

“Could be.” Brian's voice was muffled as he wiped at his face. “Have any of you… with your Jeff?”

Villain laughed a little too loudly. Antichrist sat carefully next to Brian and sipped his drink. They all watched the Midwestern mechanic, unsure of what to say.

“All right, quit staring,” Brian huffed. “John and I were physical for a while. All I'm saying is, unless you know for sure that he's straight, that might be a possibility. And it might be why they're so attached.”

Omega stood up and made his way around the table. He yanked Brian's chair out. Just as the others began to protest, he landed a hard slap across Brian's face.

“What was that for?” He held his cheek, eyes wide.

“You're not straight?!”

“I never said I was.”

“You called us fucking fairies!” Omega shrilled.

“Because of the lipstick! And it was wrong to say, and I apologized. You don't have to hit me. Damn.”

The redhead stood for a moment with his arms crossed, lips pressed tightly together. The others were in awe. They thought Omega had two settings: slut and sleep. Apparently there was a third.

“Ok, so answer the question,” he snapped, returning to his seat. “Have any of you fucked Jeff?”

Golden and Rabbit both insisted they hadn't. Villain had tried after a wrap party, but his Jeff turned him down. After a little backtracking, they established that Anti hadn't met his Jeff yet, but would absolutely top him when he got the chance.

“This is some fucked up shit,” Golden said. “I mean, my Jeff is with my family right now. Alone. Can we even trust him?”

“And if he is up to some kind of nefarious bullshit,” Anti muttered, “is it the kind that might, say, cause an explosion and ruin all our fucking lives?”

There was a moment of quiet as the accusation sunk in. The creak of the door was deafening. Everyone turned, suddenly aware that they had established a potential problem but no plan to verify it. Marilyn stepped in, alone.

“Ok, what did I just walk into?” he asked warily.

There was a long pause and Omega blurted out, “Brian likes boys!”

“Oh thank god,” Manson sighed. “So you've told him.”

“Yep,” Brian said quickly. “We were just discussing, uh…”

“Which one of us is gonna fuck him first.”

Brian's head snapped toward Anti, whose purr lingered in the air. The young man smirked at his shocked expression. He gave a wink and sipped his whiskey.

“Top or bottom?” Marilyn asked.

“Uhm, both… I guess… depends on the partner.”

Brian's ears were going pink, a handsome contrast to the silver hair at his temples. He fidgeted. Manson's eyes went from his adorable nervousness to Antichrist's predatory smile. It felt dirty, but he wanted to claim Brian for his own… not because he found the man irresistible but because he wanted to see Anti's smug superiority melt.

“Come here,” he murmured, pulling Brian out of his seat.

Their kiss was warm and familiar. Brian still smelled like engine grease and diesel, as though years of hard work had ground them into his skin. He tasted like beer. His rough hands found Marilyn's face, pulled him in closer. If Omega decided to transfer the title of Daddy to Brian, no one could argue.

“It’s been a long time,” he whispered. “I might not be any good.”

Manson chucked and kept the kiss going. He reached down, groped at the denim-covered ass. He waved at the men at the table, hoping they'd get the hint. Villain and Anti began a discussion, just enough background noise to help Brian relax.

The couple moved to the cots, shedding their shirts. Marilyn kissed the unfamiliar tattoos that adorned the other man's arms and chest - skulls and pinup girls and an “etc” between scars on his chest. That one made him smile.

Before long, they were grinding against one another, breath thick and cocks thicker. Manson tried to keep it loose. He wanted Brian to direct their play. When he was ready, he did.

“Can I…? Will you…?” Brian set his jaw and took a deep breath. “I wanna suck your cock.”

He waited a moment for a nod, then set to removing the clothes in his way. Marilyn stood to shuck his jeans and boxers off. Brian reached for his length as soon as it was free. It was familiar, daunting and absolutely beautiful.

With a soft moan, he ran his tongue around the head. Thoughts of John floated up. He pulled Manson's cock into his mouth and swallowed the memory. A gentle hand in his short hair urged him on. He set a comfortable pace, sucking and dragging his tongue along the underside.

“That's good, babe,” Marilyn sighed.

Brian looked up and they locked eyes. He took a deep breath and took the entire length smoothly. It was a practiced move. So was whatever his fingers were doing behind Manson's balls. A shaky moan of approval filled the room.

None of the others moved to join in. It hadn't been long since their earlier romp. Of course they still watched. They were tired, not dead. But they kept the conversation going, a backdrop of white noise.

Marilyn stepped back and pulled Brian to his feet. They fell into a kiss, warm and natural, as if they'd been lovers for years. Their hands worked together to strip the rest of Brian's clothes away.

“Top or bottom?” he hummed into Manson's lips.

“How about I get some lube and you decide?”

Brian let him slip out of his arms. He made his way to Omega's cot and raided his stash. When he turned back, the other man was watching, fingers pressed demurely over his mouth. He could tell before he got to him what his decision was.

They sat together, kissing and stroking. Gradually, Marilyn moved the other man to the center of the mattress. He positioned himself between Brian's legs. His mouth left wet trails over his chest and stomach.

His fingers made their way to to his partner's entrance and traced gentle circles. Brian's breath caught in his throat. He twitched. Manson teased, let him relax into it before adding lube.

The first finger had him moaning like a virgin. Marilyn grinned. He worked him open slowly, purring that he was so good, so tight, so sexy. His fingers pumped and pressed. It was as if he already knew the shivering body under him. In a way, he did.

Brian's head fell back. He made a sound like an engine coming to life. His hips lifted off of the cot. He reached back and pulled Manson's wrist closer, shoved his fingers deeper.

“I want you,” he huffed. “Right now.”

Marilyn removed his fingers and wiped the remaining lube over his throbbing cock. He let Brian pull him down and forward, guiding his length. He pressed steadily until he had nothing left.

Brian squeezed, taking in the size and shape. He sighed. His legs wrapped up and around, locking their bodies together. He dug his hands into Manson's shaggy hair and kissed him fiercely.

“Do it,” he whispered. “Fuck me.”

Marilyn began to thrust, taking his cues from the grip of the legs around his hips. He rolled his hips. He offered little licks and bites on his partner's lips and neck. The pulsing heat made him want to slow down, draw it out, but that wasn't what he was being told to do.

Brian was swimming in the sensations. His eyelids were heavy. He tried to quiet his moans, but it was too much. It had been too long. He needed it too badly. Marilyn's cock hit all the right places.

“Right there,” he gasped, straining. “Fuck it out of me.”

They ground together, sweating and panting. Their energies and bodies matched like mirrored images. Brian's cock throbbed between them. He lost the rhythm as he reached the edge. Manson kept it going. He knew he was nudging him over.

His grunts of release were rough, almost angry. He yanked on the hair in his grip. The entire cot rocked. Marilyn kept thrusting, sliding through the flood of Brian's cum. The lewd wet sounds were incredible.

“Please…”

Brian was hoarse and hungry for the final piece. His hands groped and caressed. He shivered with aftershocks that gripped Manson's cock as he lost himself in the final plunges.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Marilyn gritted, holding his pulsing cock as deep as it would go.

Brian pulled him close as he shuddered. He soaked it in, the salt and sex, the heavy breaths, the weight on his chest. He hadn't known how much he'd missed it. He blinked back a tear and laughed to cover it up.

“Sorry,” Manson chuckled, sitting up. “Didn't mean to squish you.”

“You didn't.”

Marilyn looked down at them, smeared and sticky. He wrinkled his nose. He really just wanted to lie down for a while, but the thought of dried cum all over his torso was a bit much.

He hauled himself onto his feet and headed for the restroom. Brian followed closely. The echoing tile made cleanup awkward. Apparently, nervous throat-clearing was a shared trait. The mechanic took a deep breath and a risk.

“Do you mind if I ask you something personal?”

“Uh…” Manson blinked, a bit disarmed. “I just came in your ass. I think I owe you more than a few honest answers.”

They both chuckled.

“Fair enough. I mean, it's none of my business, but… Are you and Jeff a thing?”

There was a thick pause. They dried off and Marilyn leaned against the sink. He rubbed the back of his neck.

“We're not a thing, but we fool around from time to time. It happens when you work closely with someone. The sexual tension builds and you've gotta get it out of the way.”

Brian gave a small smile. The thought of them together stung. For all of John's flaws and terrible secrets, he was still the man he wanted to be with. It was also a sad confirmation. It might be that Manson’s judgement was clouded. It might be that Jeff wasn't who everyone thought he was.

“Look, just in case this is why you're asking… That's not why I trust him. There's no favoritism. He's proven himself. He's never hurt me, never given me reason for doubt.”

His voice was earnest. His eyes were clear. He believed what he was saying. Brian wished he could believe it too.


	10. Chapter 10

Trying to come up with a plan under Marilyn's nose was like an excessively complicated, long-form game of telephone. They brainstormed in groups of two or three, then quietly pitched their ideas to the others.

Their first plan was dumb as hell. On that they all agreed. But one after another, every other idea was dismissed. It was so frustrating to be confined to the area of the nexus and to rely on Jeff for supplies. Whatever they did, it had to be done suddenly, in secret, and soon.

The last items on their shopping list came on a Tuesday. They were a pair of spreader bars, 37 inches of steel with locking cuffs. Antichrist leaned on them, testing their strength. Jeff unloaded a crate of groceries. Once he'd gone, they'd set their plan in motion.

A booming sound startled all of them. Manson backed up. Brian stepped forward, shoulders tight. Jeff lifted a hand and moved quietly toward the door. He reached into his jacket, leaned into the frame and paused.

“It's ok,” he said. “It's Dr. Sanbell.”

The men sighed in unison and relaxed. Jeff opened the door just enough to speak. His voice was low and terse. The doctor's panicked apology echoed into the barracks.

“I'm sorry, I didn't know what else to do.”

Jeff slipped into the hallway. Their voices were raised, but not enough to be understood. The Mansons crowded closer. The murmurs became softer and there were quick footsteps down the hall. Jeff returned, lips pressed tightly, and addressed his employer directly.

“I need to speak with you, Sir.”

Marilyn glanced at Brian. If there were questions about his relationship with Jeff, secrecy wouldn't help. He squared his shoulders.

“Just spit it out,” he said firmly.

“New man,” he sighed, tense. “He apparently arrived with a serious injury, significant blood loss. Dr. Sanbell is afraid for his life. Lance is on his way.”

Manson rubbed his chin and lowered his eyes. He took deep breaths. While he was thinking about his response, Brian broke the awkward silence.

“I know I say this a lot, but who are we talking about?”

“Beats me,” Villain said, his brow knit. “Golden? Rabbit?”

The other men shook their heads. Jeff shifted his weight. He seemed unsettled.

“Sir-”

“Just go assist,” Marilyn blurted out, his voice sharp. “Don’t say anything and don't let him leave. And for fuck's sake, don't let the new guy die. I don't wanna be stuck in this shit show forever. He needs blood, you're giving blood, got it? He needs a kidney, you're giving a kidney.”

He stepped slowly forward and his voice lowered.

“He needs a heart, I'll pick out your casket. Understand me?”

Jeff straightened and nodded. He slipped out the door and was gone. Marilyn walked silently through the crowd of waiting men and poured a vodka, neat. He sat at the table. There were a few moments of pregnant silence.

“Ok, what the actual fuck was that?” Anti said loudly, moving to the table. “Who the fuck is Lance and when the fuck did you grow a set of balls?”

“Lance is my… private doctor. And apparently about to be really fucking confused. But I can tell him the guy is an impersonator or something. He won't say anything.”

“No,” Brian cut in. “I know what a ‘private doctor’ is. Passing out Narcan and sewing up hookers for a rock star is tabloid shit. But you're in politics now. The price of your dirt is sky high. If you don't want this to blow up, you have to do something.”

“Fuck it.” Omega muttered. “Let's just tell someone. Get NASA over here or something and get this fucking taken care of. What's the worst that could happen?”

Anti threw up his hands and groaned, “You're kidding, right? The fucking government would come in and start doing alien autopsies.”

“Then we keep him here.” Rabbit sat down. “We put him in another part of the the building and let Sanbell finish. That way no one finds out and we get to go home.”

“What about after you leave? How am I supposed to explain any of this?

Anti took a swig of whiskey out of the bottle. He wiped his mouth, smearing his gut-red lipstick, and leaned across the table.

“I don't give a fuck,” he hissed. “This whole fucking thing is your fault. You did this, you live with it.”

The room roared into a cacophony of accusations and defenses. Brian and Villain made eye contact and Brian nodded a tiny bit. Villain slipped behind the wall of shouting men to collect a few things. As the mechanic strategically drew attention to himself, he slipped into the ladies’ room. When he finally returned, empty-handed, Brian squared up to Antichrist.

“Back up, pansy,” he rumbled. “We’re all fucking done with your fake ass. Always acting like you got something to prove. Then you wanna play the victim like you're the only one stuck here. Guaranteed nobody gives a fuck about you, so what's the fucking rush to get back? You missing ballet lessons or something, fruitcake?”

Anti narrowed his eyes. The grinding of his teeth echoed in the silent room. Brian smirked and gave a patronizing wink.

“Take a shot, sweetheart,” he chuckled softly.

Antichrist did not disappoint. He swung his right fist like a sledgehammer and it hit just as hard. Brian stood his ground. The young man landed two more blows across his jaw. He spat blood into Anti's painted face.

“I hear you, little girl. That pussy's been neglected, huh? Well, we all know mine isn't the cock you really want, is it?”

Antichrist looked like he was trapped between fight and flight. His entire body was trembling. He glanced to the side. Marilyn was watching, mouth agape. Anti turned abruptly and stormed into the men's room. Brian gave him a head-start before following.

“Do something!” Rabbit insisted, tugging at Manson's shoulder.

He cursed under his breath and tried to head Brian off. He didn't make it. While the restroom door was still open, he slipped through. He didn't know what he was there to interrupt. But if he wanted to maintain some kind of order, he couldn't let it go.

Brian was standing against the wall, cracking his knuckles. He gestured toward the stall across from him. Presumably, Anti was there, crying or puking or bleeding to death. With a heavy sigh, Marilyn approached. He stopped short of the stall.

“We're not gonna solve anything in here, guys,” he said sternly. “Anti, come on. Brian didn't mean it. Did you?”

“Of course I did.”

The man from Ohio could read Manson's exasperated expression. It was a clear plea for help. But he wasn't playing along.

“He's a child, Mar. We're all fed up, especially you. So fuck you for letting him throw temper tantrums. You wanna be a leader? Fucking lead.”

He moved toward the door, bumping Marilyn with his shoulder. The latter stared after him for a moment before closing the gap between him and the stall. Anti was leaned against the wall, his face hidden by the drape of his hair. He looked small.

“Look, Anti, I know things have been tense. When we were you, we made mistakes that we'd rather not remember. We were impulsive and unrestrained. We hurt people. That doesn't mean you're the same. And even if you are, we can't lay blame.”

He waited for a response but got none. The lanky young man stood still, moving slightly as he breathed. Manson slowly reached to put his hand on his shoulder.

“I'm sorry that we-”

As his fingers touched the red fabric of Anti's shirt, the kid spun and grabbed him. He pushed Marilyn up against the stall wall. Behind strands of bottle-black hair, his eyes flashed. Manson sucked in a breath before their mouths crashed together.

Antichrist bit at his lips and shoved his tongue between his teeth. He pawed at Marilyn's chest, snaked a hand under his shirt. His nails hurt. But his roughness wasn't aggression. It was desperation.

He couldn't say,  _ I'm sorry, _ and he couldn't hear it. He couldn't say,  _ I'm not a shadow and I can't live like one.  _ He couldn't say,  _ I know I'm cracked and I don't know how to heal. _ He couldn't say anything, so he begged with shaking fingers.

Manson heard him. He gripped Anti's arms tightly and pushed him back. He hit the wall and looked up. His eyes were wet and his bottom lip quivered. He sniffed and wiped at his cheek with one hand, red swelling already shading the knuckles.

Marilyn wrapped one hand around the back of his neck and yanked him into a deep kiss. He wedged his knee between Anti's thighs and felt the roll of his hips. A soft groan passed back and forth between them.

On the other side of the wall, there was a crashing noise. Raised voices drew Manson’s attention. He turned his head. Antichrist jerked as though he'd been punched. He gripped the older man's face and drew him back in. He couldn't let go. Not now.

The sound faded away and the heat closed in. Their bodies found a rhythm, grinding against one another. The wire that connected them had cut to the bone. They mashed their bloody edges together.

The power of their anger and jealousy came to a head. Marilyn backed up and stripped his clothes away. Anti followed, revealing the lithe, scar-covered monster that Manson remembered. They wrestled on their feet, tugging and clawing, until they fell over the toilet.

Marilyn pulled the younger man into his lap. Antichrist provided just enough spit and lined up. He sank his teeth into Manson's shoulder as he sat, taking his cock steadily. He clenched his fists against the unfamiliar stretch. He could feel the man under him adjust his stance and grab onto the bar on the wall.

Anti was so tight that Marilyn wondered for a moment if it was his first time. Somehow the possibility didn't calm his urgency. He lifted his hips, driving deep and quick. His free hand tangled in that long, greasy hair.

The two pounded together in sharp, shallow thrusts, grunting loudly. The toilet rocked. The energy was like a mosh pit. Antichrist's bare foot slipped on the tile and he lost his balance. Manson caught him, slid his supple body over his cock like a toy.

“You're not going anywhere,” he growled.

Anti whimpered in response, closed his eyes tightly. His left hand found his cock. Every thrust burned and ached in the most amazing way. He found his footing and a handhold on Marilyn's shoulder and slammed back to meet him.

A stinging tear squeezed between his long lashes as he took the brutal fuck. The lava in his gut bubbled over and he tensed. His cum poured over his hand and their bellies. It felt humiliating, like a surrender.

Manson sped up, using his body. It wasn't exactly pleasant, but the pain of overstimulation was just as welcome. He pinched at the older man's nipples with cum-slick fingers. Marilyn's rough grunts and the slapping of his balls on Anti’s ass were music. He pulled the bottom's ear close and whispered the lyrics.

“I’m not pulling out. You’re taking my load like the pretty little bitch you are. That's what you need, isn't it?”

Antichrist nodded, another tear falling down his arched cheekbone. Marilyn fucked as deeply as he could and peaked. He moaned desperately. His cum flooded the tight heat of Anti's ass. It was a shock that melted and smoothed out the high.

The young man bobbled like a newborn giraffe and knelt on the floor. He reached down and back, felt the cum seeping out of him. Manson looked down at him, his face a mix of relief and curiosity.

“Mar,” Anti rasped, hoarse. “I didn't mean for this to happen. I didn't know. I… I was just supposed to keep you talking.”

The exhausted smile on Marilyn's face disappeared. He hauled himself onto his feet and began a hasty cleanup.

“Keep me talking why? What the fuck did you do?”

“Listen.” Antichrist blocked the stall door while Manson pulled his pants on. “Let me explain. Otherwise you're gonna overreact.”

Marilyn tried to push past but Anti held his chest.

“Just give me five minutes to explain. Please. I don't wanna lose what we just did.”

He looked into Antichrist's flushed face. He was sincere. For the first time since his arrival, Manson could believe he was sincere. He sighed.

“Talk.”


	11. Chapter 11

The door to the ladies’ room opened with a creak. The men stopped talking. Antichrist led the way, pushing his hair back from his face. Marilyn, shirtless and sweating, followed.

Jeff's wrists were secured overhead by the cuffs on one of the spreader bars. The other bar held his feet. Villain had done a good job attaching them to the stall frame. Judging from Omega's runny mascara and Golden's bloody nose, it hadn't been easy to get him into place, even for five men.

“Sir…”

Manson put a finger to his lips. His blood ran hot.

“I've told you a million times to call me Marilyn. You can understand how frustrating it is to hear the wrong name, can't you, John?” The bound man stiffened. “Now, I'm gonna ask you some questions and if I don't like the answers, you know what's gonna happen.”

He lowered his voice and added, "Do you need me to ask?" The question was met by a nod, almost imperceptible.

Marilyn glanced at Omega and Rabbit, holding one another in the corner. Golden followed his line of sight. He wrapped his arms around them and they left the room. Satisfied, Manson turned back to the task at hand.

"When did John become Jeff?"

"When you couldn't remember my name. Back when I had just become your assistant. You asked me one night and I didn't correct you."

"Why not?"

"It seemed like a good opportunity to start over. I didn't want to go back."

"Go back to what?"

Jeff paused. His breath shuddered. He clenched his fists around the bar. Marilyn moved in close. Two fingers lifted Jeff's chin. There was a moment of ice. Then his fist hit his ribs.

"I already know," Manson said softly to the groaning man. "I wanna hear you say it."

"Turner," Jeff choked out. "I worked for Turner. They picked me up in Canton, started with errands and worked up. I didn't have any ties so I went to Columbus. Then I got out."

A sharp punch to the stomach made him lose his footing. He hung for a minute, coughing. Manson stared down at him. Villain, Brian and Anti watched uncomfortably.

"You expect me to believe Turner let you go?"

Jeff slowly got to his feet. He blinked back tears. It was the most human the others had seen him.

"No, I don't. But he hasn't sent anyone. I haven't been called or tailed. I've been waiting fifteen years for the other shoe to drop."

"Seems like it has," Villain said softly.

"Do you think I haven't considered that? I go home every day and look Amanda in the eyes and tell her not to worry. I plug your receipts and I pay the staff and I lie in bed with a brick in my chest. If I… if I d-did this… I…"

His words dissolved. Manson rubbed his face. There were more answers here, but none that would change anything. There were questions Jeff couldn't answer.  More importantly, they needed a break. He mumbled instructions to keep him tied and made his way out of the restroom. Rabbit called after him, but he didn't stop.

"Where's he going?" Rabbit asked no one in particular. "What happened?"

As the barracks door clicked shut, the door to the ladies' room opened. Brian headed for his nicotine gum. After that shit, he wanted to smoke a whole carton. Golden left the others at the table and approached him.

"So…?"

"So…" Brian popped two pieces and sighed. "Jeff was John. He says he's out, and I'm inclined to believe it. But that doesn't mean his old boss agrees. And apparently Marilyn has a solid fist."

"Yeah, I've seen it." Golden glanced over his shoulder at the door. "Where did he go?"

"No clue. He said to keep Jeff in there and he bolted."

The hallway echoed with Jeff's gasps, the familiar quaver in his voice that said he had nothing left to give. Manson cleared his throat as he rounded the corner. Out of the line of sight from the barracks, he took a moment to lean against the wall.

_ Why didn't you ask? _ he demanded of himself.  _ You knew and you didn't make him confess. Why didn't you care enough to demand honesty? _

_ Because it didn't matter. Because he was what you needed every single time. Because he always knew what to do. Because he could fix anything, and damn near anyone, you broke. Because he could fix you. _

It was a painful truth. He'd cut his hair and sharpened his wit, but he hadn't changed. Not really. He was still selfish and careless. He'd enabled the lie.

He shook the thought away and started walking again, toward the lab. Around another corner, Dr. Sanbell stood, propped against a closed door, rubbing her eyes. She looked up at the sound of footsteps and made a strange expression. Marilyn realized he was still shirtless and blushed a bit.

"I was just taking a walk… I actually have some questions for you, if that's ok."

"Of course." The doc gave a half-hearted smile. "I was just about to check on Holywood... I, uh, took the liberty of naming him. Would you like to wait here?"

"Could I see him? How's he doing?"

"Better," she said, opening the door. "Come on, then."

He followed into the converted office. The doctor's diplomas hung on the walls. In the far corner, on a cot with makeshift side rails, was the newest arrival. He looked even more pale than the rest of them, almost like paper. His midsection was wrapped in a gauze dressing.

"What happened?"

"He was impaled by a crossbar. It missed all of the important bits - goodness knows how - but he was bleeding badly. Lance was a big help. If we can keep infection at bay, he'll probably be alright."

"A crossbar from what?" Marilyn muttered, almost to himself, gently touching the bloodstained bedding on the cot.

"From the device."

He nodded absently, not entirely listening. Holywood's chest moved slowly. His eyelids twitched. He was so vulnerable and fragile. Watching him sleep was almost hypnotic. The movement of Dr. Sanbell's hands as she checked his vitals brought him back to her words.

"Wait… a piece of the machine ended up in his universe?"

"No, actually," she sighed as if the words were heavy. "My device was inventoried and it's complete. The bar we recovered from him matches one of my parts exactly. He was next to some version of the machine in his own universe when it flew apart."

"When you inventoried the pieces, did you find anything that could've been a bomb? Was anything cut or broken? Any tampering?"

"No, but get this…" She perked up. "There was a residue on the bar we took out of Holywood's stomach. I sent it to another lab for discrete analysis, but it smelled like gunpowder. It could've been from a homemade explosive.

"Now, it's all speculation, but it's possible that identical machines being tested in different universes could tunnel to one another. If that machine were destroyed while operating, it could send a pulse of intense energy through the tunnel."

"Then why wouldn't we all end up there?" Manson asked.

Holywood made an uncomfortable sound. His fingers moved. The doctor added a syringe of clear liquid to his IV. He fussed a bit more and gradually settled. She motioned for Marilyn to join her in the hallway.

"Because the energy dispersed here and created the nexus here," she said softly, closing the door behind them. "Again, I can't say for sure, but that's the best theory I have right now."

Manson thanked her and started to turn away. She held a hand up to get his attention.

"By the way, have you seen Jeff? He was assisting me with some tests."

_ Shit. _

"Yeah, he was just… answering some questions for us."

"Oh. So he told you..." Her tone was hesitant but she covered it with a smile. "That's ok. It's just a theory. In all likelihood, we'll never know for sure. I just hope it doesn't make you feel differently about him. He's a good man."

Suddenly warm again, Marilyn agreed and promised to send Jeff back to the lab as soon as he was finished. He made his way back. The gears were turning. Jeff wasn't responsible, but he was hiding something else.

"What's the theory?"

His voice echoed in the bathroom. He'd paused long enough to grab a black button-down shirt. He let it hang open and rolled the sleeves up. Anti and Brian stepped back and let him at the bound man.

"Sir, we were going to tell you, all of you, when we got Holywood's story. We wanted to-"

Manson didn't stop. As soon as he reached the stall doorway, he swung. His fist connected to Jeff's jaw. He moved in close, held Jeff's face between his hands.

"Ok?" he whispered, stepping back only after feeling a nod.

"You're not the reason you've been pulled through," Jeff panted. "I am."

He braced for another punch. When it didn't come, he stammered and continued.

"N-not… not me, but some version of me. Dr. Sanbell originally thought that heightened emotional states were what joined you. Now we're thinking maybe it wasn't your emotion. Brian was calm. It was me who was upset. And on tours, you get bored, but I'm on alert. Versions of me could've been at concerts, even as far back as Dead to the World.

"If I was there when Holywood's machine blew… If I was the most charged thing in the room, closest to the machine, whatever… you're the focus of whatever I felt."

There was a long pause. Jeff had become dreamy, disconnected. Manson's expression slowly softened. It was over. He stepped close and embraced him. Jeff sighed and sobbed. He'd needed to come clean.

"This wasn't your fault," Marilyn whispered.

He bent to release the ankle cuffs. Jeff's legs trembled. He turned toward the others. They'd seen enough.

"Out."

Once they were alone, Manson unfastened his hands. He slumped into his lover's shoulder, then slid to the floor. He rubbed at the red marks around his wrists. The water turned on, then stopped, and Marilyn joined him on the tile.

"Are you ok?" he asked tenderly, wiping Jeff's face. "Do you need to talk?"

"I'm ok," he said breathlessly, one hand sliding down his stomach. "Can I…?"

"Checkup first." Manson checked his heart rate, frowned, and began moving his joints, opened his mouth, inspecting. "I didn't know they were gonna pull that stunt. I wouldn't have gone along with it."

"I know. But being up there… felt like home."

"Yeah… it did. You know you could've used your safeword, or told the other three to leave. I would've respected that. Is this ok?" He gently touched the spot on Jeff's side where the first punch landed.

"Just bruised. Hey…" Jeff touched Manson's hand. "You have every right to be angry. I should've told you from the beginning. I was wrong."

They leaned together, foreheads touching like cats seeking comfort. There was no way to condemn Jeff's lie by omission without damning himself a thousand times over. There were six men in the next room who had no idea what they'd watched, and he didn't intend to explain.

"I don't care who you were."

Their lips touched. Jeff took Marilyn's hand and rubbed it against the bulge in his pants. He moaned, too far gone to just tuck it away and go back to work.

"Please, sir… Can I…?"

"Yes, puppy," he chuckled, giving it a squeeze. "You can."

Jeff quickly sat up on his knees. He unfastened his belt, pulled his slacks and underwear down. His cock, petite with a delicate Prince Albert ring, bobbed. It glistened under the fluorescent lights. His left hand wrapped around it easily.

He rocked forward onto his right hand and knees. His body shifted as he jerked quickly. Manson reached behind him, found the small steel plug he always wore, and nudged it with his thumb. Jeff panted and whispered.

"Sir… my ribs..."

Smiling fondly, Marilyn pressed the heel of his hand into the sore spot. Jeff's head hung forward. He held his breath and leaned into Manson's hand. Suddenly, he jolted back onto his heels and cupped his right hand under the throbbing head. He whimpered and spilled his cum into his palm.

"That's it," Marilyn murmured, tapping his fingertips against the tender bruise. "Good boy. Let it out."

Jeff worked himself through it. He was so pretty, his slacks around his knees, expensive dress shirt and drooling, pierced cock. He gave a few milking strokes and a deep sigh. He lifted his shaking hand and lapped at the puddle.

"Thank you, sir," he breathed.

Manson pulled him in for a sweet kiss, then helped him get cleaned up and dressed. He stopped at the sink to check his hair and tie. He was Jeff again. Public Jeff, infinitely patient, cool and collected. Not John. Not anymore.


	12. Chapter 12

The more he tried not to act like a lost little boy, the more he felt like one. Marilyn had held his body and cooled the aching wound inside. He wanted to feel that again. But he couldn't ask for it. He was a victim of his own arbitrary rules.

Still, like a bending stick, he feared he would break without relief from the pressure. He tried to drop subtle hints. He chose the shower next to Manson, followed him into the restroom, bumped into him, gave sideways looks. They were all things that worked on groupies, roadies and musicians. But Marilyn was painfully distant.

He was going to have to bite the bullet. He would rather it be actual ordinance in his mouth and not mewling weakness.

"Mar?"

The older man hung behind, let the others file through the door. They headed for the morning blood draw. Antichrist crossed his arms defensively. Manson just waited silently.

"Look, I… you know," Anti muttered, looking away. "I need…"

"I know what you need."

Antichrist's eyes snapped back to Marilyn's face. His ears burned pink, both exhilarated at the prospect of release from the cage of his own making and ashamed of being found out. He managed to keep the rest of his face fashionably aloof.

"Right. Ok."

He didn't hold the door on his way into the hallway. He didn't stop when he met Villain on his way back. He heard Manson speak softly, but he kept going. It was his way of maintaining the bravado that protected and strangled him.

When he got back to the barracks, the chairs from the table were arranged in a large half-circle with a cot along what would've been the arc of the other side. The other men were milling around with cans of purple soda and unrelated conversation. He blinked in confusion.

It looked like a setup for improv comedy. Or therapy. No, an intervention. He wanted no part of it, whatever it was, and turned on his heel. Marilyn's broad hand on his chest stopped him.

"You want it," he rumbled, "you sit. That's the deal."

The young man painted on a smirk, as though he were only complying to have a story later. But his hands shook. He flopped into the chair on the end and crossed his legs. The others took a seat as well and waited.

Manson went to his cot and rummaged for a few minutes. He returned with a box wrapped in red paper. He handed it to Anti and sat in the last empty chair, right next to him.

"I can't believe you guys remembered my birthday," Antichrist spat sarcastically.

"Open it."

Anti tore the paper away and opened the box. Inside was a small steel plug, a bottle of strawberry lube and a white lace handkerchief with an 'A' embroidered in red.

"The fuck?"

"I told you, I know what you need." Marilyn's voice was low and commanding. "The handkerchief is your safeword. It drops, it stops. Understand?"

Antichrist gulped and nodded. His pulse pounded in his ears.

"Good boy. Now go put it in."

He stood and started for the men's room. Manson grabbed his shirt. That wasn't what he meant and the cocky little bastard knew it. Slowly, he turned and walked to the cot.

His fingers shook as he undressed. His folded clothes laid on the chair. Exposed, he crawled onto the mattress.

The lube filled the room with a smell like candy. Sitting back on his heels, knees spread, he fumbled with the plug. It finally slid into place and his expression changed. He reached for the box and picked up the lace square. He looked to Marilyn for direction.

"Jerk off."

Anti looked nervously at the others. All eyes were on him. There was a ball of worms writhing in his stomach. Manson leaned forward and tented his fingers.

"If you can't show yourself, how will you be able to show anyone else?"

It was a genius move and Antichrist hated him for thinking of it first. He turned over, gasping at the way the plug moved. His half-hard cock surprised him. He swiped his lubed fingers over the head, closed his eyes and started to stroke.

Being seen was terrifying and wonderful, like being on stage. He tried to camp it up, give the perverts something to watch. But after a few minutes, the Linda Lovelace act fell through. His overdone moans collapsed into whimpers. The hand dramatically groping his chest settled over one nipple, rubbing just slightly. His thighs tensed.

"Stop."

Anti almost jumped out of his skin. His eyes flew open. Had he forgotten about the others? He honestly didn't know. Marilyn was standing next to the cot, nude, holding his cock loosely. His gaze felt slick.

"Come here, angel."

A part of Antichrist bristled at the word, and another part melted. He rolled up onto his elbow. Still holding the handkerchief, he used his other hand to grab at the length in front of him. He kissed it gently, then rubbed it over his tongue.

A pair of smooth hands ran down his ribs like a washboard. He brought his knees forward without thinking, just enough to offer his ass. The long fingers traced swirls over his cheeks, then reached between them to press against the silver base of the plug.

Anti moaned at the pressure and took Manson's cock into his mouth. He was hesitant. He'd never sucked another man without some kind of pretense between them. The hand at the back of his head pulled him in. He coughed and pulled back.

"Cute." The gravelly baritone was Brian. "But I'm not sitting here all fucking day, watching this simpering little bitch beat around the bush."

"Be my guest."

The way Marilyn just offered him up made the worms begin again. He looked down at the cloth in his hand. He needed to believe he was still in control.

Four hands pulled his bony frame toward the end of the cot. The mattress flexed as Brian sat down, feet firmly on the floor. He was still wearing his jeans. They were rough against Anti's sensitive cock as the hands shoved him across the mechanic's lap.

A sharp slap against his ass jarred the door closed. It stung, but he stubbornly laughed it off. He folded his arms under his head like a pillow and sighed.

"Is that all you got, old man?"

Brian lit into him. That work-rough hand left pink and white prints over his ass and thighs. He squirmed as the heat and pain built. He covered his yelps with giggles and falsetto moans.

Golden, in full makeup and silk boxers, stood where Anti could see him. He drummed his fingers against his royal purple lips thoughtfully. His eyes lit up.

"You know," he smirked, "there's something that works on Johnny when he's being a brat. Give me your hand."

Brian bent uncomfortably to put his hand in Antichrist's line of sight. Golden leaned forward, made eye contact with the defiant young man, and spat into Brian's palm. Anti braced himself as Golden leaned in to purr in his ear.

"Now beat the bitch out of him."

A fresh volley of vicious blows made him arch. The moisture only made the spanking more brutal. Brian's other arm came down across his shoulders, pinning him.

"Ok, jokes over," he called out shakily. "That's enough."

From his chair, Manson kept his eye on the white lace. Anti's clenched fist was shaking. He moved his hand over the side of the cot, looked about to drop it.

"Wait," he said, staying Brian's hand. "You done?"

The young man looked up, followed his gaze to his hand. He jerked it back to his side. He fumed.

"I'm not giving you the goddamn satisfaction."

"Ok." Marilyn sounded bored. "Go ahead."

Brian resumed. He kept his hand moving, gave more time between blows. Antichrist responded with angry grunts. The spanking stopped and the sticky hand rubbed over his burning red skin. He let out a loud, genuine gasp as he was pulled back onto his heels.

The mechanic sniffed and stood up, then pulled Anti back down onto his elbows. He put one hand on the back of his neck like a dog and grinned. At the other end, the cot gave under someone's knees. Careful fingers pulled slowly at the plug.

"It took some convincing to get him on board," Brian said, "but it's only right that Rabbit has first crack at your ass. Don't you think?"

The plug slipped free. A burst of strawberry washed over him. He felt oiled fingertips teasing his entrance.

"B-Bunny?"

A finger slid in, working him open. He whined and pushed against Brian's grip. But he held the handkerchief tightly.

"Not too much," Manson said, now behind him. "Do it like he does to you."

Without much more ado, the wide, hot head of Rabbit's cock pressed into him. It was slower, more patient than he deserved. But once he was hilted, deep and gently curved into his sweet spot, he seemed to become a different person. His thrusts were quick and mean, giving exactly what he got.

Brian let go of his neck and he rose up, eyes squeezed shut, trying to cope with the apparent revenge fuck he was receiving. Three fingers dug at his lips. When he didn't open, they landed a slap on his left cheek.

"Play nice, angel."

He opened his eyes and mouth, watched Villain's jewelry slide out of view and felt it on his lips. The barbells clicked against his teeth. He opened wider, cupped his tongue and gagged as Villain used his mouth.

Rabbit moaned and dug his fingernails into Anti's flanks. His pace faltered and his cock throbbed, flooding his dominant's ass with cum. He pulled out slowly and stumbled toward the chairs. Someone else replaced him and wasted no time setting a selfish rhythm.

Anti thought his jaw was going to fall off. It cramped and ached. It matched the burn in his ass and the coiling beginnings of an orgasm in his gut. Villain pulled out, dragging a thick stream of drool over Antichrist's chin.

"Don't worry," he said, husky. "You're gonna get my cum just as soon as Golden gets off in that used pussy of yours. Is that what you want?"

Anti groaned and nodded. He could feel the lace in his hand, pressing its texture into his skin. His eyes fluttered. Omega knelt in front of him and clicked his tongue.

"Sucking dick is hard on lipstick isn't it, honey?" He mopped his face dry, held it in place and applied his metallic pink shade. "There you go. Pretty. Now let's test it."

He stood up and offered his cock. Antichrist took it as if he were gunning for Omega's job. He sucked the head, lifted his empty hand to work the base. Omega ran his fingers through his stringy hair. He hummed and whispered, rolling his hips.

"There it is… Not so big and bad, are you? Imagine, you were a sweet little cocksucker all this time. Farther back, sweetie. Like you're gonna swallow it. More pressure underneath…"

"You make Omega cum," Golden panted, "and you'll get this load."

Anti threw himself into the task and soon had the redhead wobbling. He yanked his cock back and let go on the younger man's face. It was hot on his cheek and chin, dripping down his lips. Omega leaned down and kissed him, sharing it, as Golden added his cum to Rabbit's.

"Get back."

Omega moved in time for Brian to step in and finish himself on Antichrist's face. He wrapped that long black hair around his fist and pulled as his release splattered everywhere.

"Little angel, the barracks whore," the gruff man muttered, tossing him back to Omega.

Villain was in position and pushed his cock steadily into his gaping entrance. Anti gasped and twitched as the barbells rippled inside. It only took a few thrusts for Villain to cum. He held still, his piercings pressing in all the right places.

Anti couldn't hold back any longer. He reached back to gather the wetness dripping down his thighs and massaged it into his length. Villain seemed to wait until his throaty groans reached a peak, then pulled out. It was more than enough to push him over the edge. He spilled his cum into a small pond in the center of the cot.

The room hissed with the slowing breath of six men. Manson, calm and collected, helped the ravaged rock star to sit up. He waved the others off. They disappeared into the restroom.

"Are you ok?" Marilyn asked, looking him over.

Anti nodded and began to sob. He buried his face in Manson's chest. The strong arms around him couldn't press the pieces back together. But they made it ok to be broken.

"I-I'm not… strong," he choked out. "I never… never was... It's all f-fake… I don't have con-t-trol..."

Marilyn let him cry until he was across the gorge, then showed him the route back up.

"Anti, what's in your hand?"

"Hmm?"

He sat up and cleared his throat. There, in his right hand, was the tuft of lace. He hadn't dropped it. A fresh tear fell along his nose. Manson thumbed it away.

"You were in control the whole time. You chose to trust us. You chose every step of the way. You rode it out, took the risk. You had faith that, in the end, you'd get what you needed. That's real strength, kid."

The annoying, sanctimonious asshole was right, and it might have changed everything.


	13. Chapter 13

He sat up. He ate solid food. He said his first word:  _ fuck _ . Marilyn visited at least twice a day and kept the rest informed. Soon - much sooner than Manson expected - he was alert and arguing.

"Stay your ass in bed," Manson insisted, sneaking a joint into Holywood's hand. "Don't worry, Dr. Sanbell. I'll keep him in line."

She eyed the pair suspiciously. But it was in everyone's best interest that Holywood let his injury heal. Whatever they got up to while unsupervised, surely it wouldn't involve the risk of torn sutures. She gathered the day's samples and headed for the hallway.

"Besides," he added in a stage whisper, "if you get up, no more sponge baths."

"I heard that!" the doctor called as the door closed.

The men snickered like middle school boys. Marilyn pulled a chair closer and sat down. He offered a lighter. Holywood took a deep hit and settled back into the pillow.

"Seriously, listen to the doc," Manson chuckled, pulling a flask out of his pocket. "I'm paying Lance a pretty penny to stay here and keep your guts from falling out. Don't waste my money."

"Yeah, thanks for that." They traded and Holy took a sip. "Technically, though, you owe me for saving your ass."

"Sanbell said you were starting to remember things, not losing your damn mind," Manson coughed. "The machine on your end is what started this quantum clusterfuck."

Holywood had a lungful of smoke. He rolled his eyes and offered his middle finger. Marilyn laughed until he caught the exhale square in the face.

"Last thing I remember was shoving you out of the way," Holy sighed.

Manson knit his brow and tried to dredge up the first day. There was the sound, and two hands on his shoulders, then the floor. He'd assumed that Jeff pushed him. But if he had, then why weren't they close together when the debris settled? They'd never discussed it.

"Why were you at the lab?" he asked softly.

"Good, old-fashioned vandalism. Back home, this is a government lab masquerading as private sector. The tech advanced farther and faster because it's part of the military budget. My drummer, John, thought it would be great if we broke in and fucked stuff up."

"John look a lot like Jeff?" Marilyn asked, as if he didn't know the answer.

Holy nodded and motioned for the flask. He took a sip, clicked his tongue and ran a hand through his hair.

"I kinda thought it was just an excuse to get me alone. He had that vibe, you know? But he planned the whole thing out: security system, layout, latex gloves, hairnets… which I will never wear again. I felt like a lunch lady." He wrinkled his nose.

"Anyway, we shredded some shit, snapped some discs into pieces, and eventually got into this wing. We pulled some wires and messed with dials. I started to feel weird. Staticky and warm. I said I wanted to go.

"I didn't know about the pipe bomb. John said it was for me, to make a statement. He stuck it into an access hatch and it rattled down inside. Then I saw you. I yelled but you didn't seem to hear. John was pulling me toward the door, but I couldn't just-"

"Thank you," Marilyn cut in.

He didn't want or need to hear any more. He knew. Holywood looked relieved. He shifted in the bed, sat up straighter and winced.

"See? You're not ready for the barracks, pussy. Can't even sit up." Manson's tone was mocking but he gently helped to make his hero more comfortable.

"Ok, fine… But could you send Omega in for a conjugal visit? My arm's getting tired," Holy said, rolling his shoulder like a sore pitcher.

"Ok, but I get half, just like any other pimp. You're seeping. Here…"

He grabbed a fresh bandage from a shelf and set to redressing the wound. Holywood held turns of gauze in place. Two heads of shaggy black hair and four big hands made it awkward. A soft 'excuse me' came from the doorway. Marilyn chuckled but didn't look up.

"Speak of the devil. We were just talking about you, princess."

He tucked the end of the wrap into place and dropped the old bandage in a biohazard bin. Wiping his hands on his pants, he turned. Holywood gasped.

The kid in the doorway looked like the picture on his license when he turned 21. His knit brows weren't drawn on. His hands pushed his black t-shirt out of the way and wedged into the pockets of his shredded jean shorts. He was nervously chewing on his lip ring.

"Motherfu… Spooky Kids, right? Fuck. I didn't even hear you. Did you just get here?"

Holywood was nearly giddy. Manson rolled his eyes and tried to remind himself that this was his first new arrival. The boy mustered a smile.

"Yeah," he chuckled, stepping toward the cot. "Marilyn Manson and the Spooky Kids. Are you a fan?"

"Hell yeah, I am! You know, the demos never did get enough play time. We really deserved to-"

"Ok, that's enough," Marilyn sighed, stepping between them. "Let me get you where you need to be, kid."

He guided the young man into the hall and left Holy to pout. In the stark fluorescence of the hall, the newcomer's cheekbones looked even sharper, his hair sleeker, not yet fried by constant dying. He was obviously unsettled but trying to look cool. His snow leopard leggings tucked into his combat boots were adorable.

"Don't take this the wrong way," he mumbled, clearing his throat, "but where are we?"

"Best to let Dr. Sanbell explain. The important thing is that you're safe and we'll get you sorted out as soon as we can."

They turned a corner and nearly ran into Jeff. He almost fumbled the small box of supplies he was carrying. The young man caught it and apologized. Jeff nodded politely and made eye contact with Manson.

"If you need anything," the latter said, "Jeff is the man to ask. Are you thirsty? Need a change of clothes?"

"I'm good, thanks."

Jeff continued toward the barracks. Marilyn and the kid headed for the lab. The doc was typing furiously but smiled when they walked in. She shook the boy's hand and gestured to a chair.

"I'm Dr. Sanbell. I'm happy to answer all of your questions. If you could have a seat, I'll be with you in a moment." She motioned for Manson to join her behind the console as she finished typing and spoke more seriously. "I've run sims on the barrier equation and it's off the table. Closing is the only option."

Marilyn nodded and rubbed his face, then replied, "Well, that's that. I guess I'll talk to the rest… Did Holywood tell you how it happened?"

"Yeah, an uncalibrated device and a pipe bomb. The data pretty much bears it out. Hey." She laid her hand on his arm and lowered her voice. "You don't have to tell them. I can do it."

"I got it. Any way we can get Holywood in the same room?"

"If Jeff can get a wheelchair…"

Manson gave a thin smile and nodded. He offered the kid a thumbs up and headed toward the door.

"The doc will get you squared away and Jeff or I will come get you. See you soon, Spooky."

It was hard to keep his mouth shut while the others milled around the barracks. So he filled it with vodka and cookies like a dissatisfied housewife. Jeff brought Holywood and they drank together.

Finally, the kid arrived. He looked even more pale, worrying his lip ring. The Mansons made their introductions. Golden passed him a glass of whiskey. His eyes were wide.

"You ok there, Spooky?" Omega asked, retrieving a soda from the fridge.

"I just can't believe it goes this far. I mean… I just wanted to get laid."

A chuckle went around the room and heads nodded.

"It works," Villain shrugged. "Just keep doing what you do."

Jeff leaned toward Marilyn and filled him in. Spooky's numbers were within range. The barrier readings were getting worse. It was time.

"You better switch to booze," Manson called to Omega. "And somebody break out the weed. We gotta talk."

The room went quiet and they listened, passing a joint and the bottles. No one was upset that solution development had been kept under wraps. It was better to find out all at once instead of riding waves of hope and disappointment.

"So that's it" Marilyn sighed, handing the vodka to Brian. "We can't leave the nexus open. We can't stabilize it. And when we close it, it's a crapshoot. Maybe you all go back to your lives. Maybe you're stuck here. And maybe we all drop dead."

Spooky headed for the men's room to cry or puke or both. Rabbit buried his head in Antichrist's shoulder. Brian dumped the rest of his gum into his mouth. It was fucked. And none of them could do anything about it.

"I wish I'd written a will," Holywood sighed. "I guess my stuff will go to Mom and Dad."

"Bridget gets everything," Rabbit said softly, tousling his hair. "She'll be taken care of, and free to find her happiness. It's ok."

"Maybe it's for the best. It's not like I have much to go home to," Brian added.

Golden let loose of a cloud of smoke and rasped, "Don't talk like that. We're going back. I'm gonna get old and gross with Johnny and watch my son burn the world down."

Omega almost choked on the spiked soda in his mouth. Marilyn's jaw hung open.

"You have a son?"

"Yeah. We hired a surrogate right after the wedding." He dug a photo of a toddler out of the inner pocket on his vest. "Eric has Johnny's looks and my shitty attitude. His favorite word is 'no.' And I don't care what he grows up to be, but I'm gonna be there to see it."

The door to the restroom clicked shut. The kid sat down and reached for the rest of the Oreos. He looked a little green.

"In the span of two hours," he mumbled, "I've been sucked into another universe, met my potential futures, and found out I might be stuck or die."

"When?" Anti asked a little too loud.

"Best window is in two days." Manson finished off the vodka. "So make a shopping list. It's on me."

The men started making suggestions for a blowout party. Booze, steak, Rhianna's full discography, Cards Against Humanity. Marilyn tore a few pages from his lyric notebook and Villain found a pen. It seemed like a nice distraction.

While they planned and argued, Manson snuck out. He wandered slowly down the hall, counting his steps. He could probably close his eyes and follow the route by memory. The pockmarked ceiling tile absorbed the thudding of his boots.

The narrow locker room had one bench in the center. He tucked his boots underneath. He folded his shirt and pants. As he set them down, he caught his reflection in the full-length mirror.

He could still see the scars that were so fresh on Anti's chest. He'd covered some with ink, images of dreams and nightmares. He ran a tattooed hand down his stomach, soft with age and good food, to the small emblem just above his pubic bone.

It wasn't a design anyone would understand. He touched its points, remembering the night he sketched it, sitting up in bed while Amanda slept, a photo of her favorite flower on his phone. He remembered how much it hurt and how she cried when he showed her.

Marilyn cleared his throat and padded down the short corridor to the showers. The open room echoed his arrival. He turned on the water at his usual spot, turned it all the way up. The force of it stung. He put his hands on the cool tile and leaned forward just a bit.

The water grew hotter and hotter, sluicing between his shoulder blades. He dropped his head, let his hair fall into his face. He could see her in her red dress and his ring. He shook, gritting his teeth against the pain.

"I can see it in your eyes and feel it in your touch," she murmured. "You don't have to say it."

"I want to," he whispered through the steam.

But he didn't.


	14. Chapter 14

"Grilled cheese in one hand, beer in the other, Milo on my lap." Brian smiled and rearranged his cards. "Fall asleep watching Night Court reruns. Normal, boring, simple life."

"Uh-uh," Omega said, waving a finger. "Motherfucking shopping spree. Thrift stores, pawn shops, the works. Time to get out of these sequins and into some vintage silk."

Golden stretched and pursed his lips.

"Take Eric to the park and not chase him around with sunscreen and electrolytes... Sit on a blanket with Johnny, and stop worrying about whether he's gonna skin his knees or make a little girl cry, and just… watch."

"Well, I am going to a hospital," Holywood chimed. "Lance can't even sew a straight line. I'm probably full of Bondo and duct tape... How about you, Spooky? What are you doing when you get back?"

The kid was folded on a cot, his chin resting on his knees. He chewed his lip ring and shrugged.

"I guess I'll burn my bra. Do the… things... I've always wanted to do… even if it's weird."

" _ Especially  _ if it's weird," Omega laughed, dumping more vodka into his drink. "There's no shame in chasing happiness. Kiss everybody, scream, set fires, say what you think and wear what you like."

"Omega certainly does," Brian smirked under his breath. "His closet's probably half-full of lingerie."

"But I'm not in there with it, tough guy. And I'll have you know, Victoria's secret is that his name is Victor."

A mini debate on gendered clothing and trashing stereotypes drowned the card game. Marilyn was sitting in the corner, sketching the scene. He noticed the kid fading out of the group and into his own thoughts.

It wasn't fair. He was just starting. The rest of them had felt the spotlight, loved and lived and wanted to die. They'd had time. Manson kept re-drawing his eyes. He couldn't get the sadness out of them.

"Could I talk to you?" Spooky had snuck up on him. "Privately?"

"Of course."

Marilyn hoped no one saw them duck into the hallway. The young man fidgeted and stuffed his hands into his pockets. His tongue moved his piercing in a way that was so endearing. His cheeks burned pink.

"In case we die, I just…" He stared at his feet. "I've never… I always wondered… if… I'd enjoy… kissing. You know?"

Manson hesitated. He was flattered, but the age difference made him think of that rebound that ended as fast and hot as it began. The memory stung.

"It's not a big deal. Never mind."

"Why not Omega?" Marilyn asked, brushing his hand with the back of his fingers. "I mean, why me?"

"I don't know," Spooky shrugged. "When you put your arm around me, I just felt safe. I knew everything was gonna be ok."

A moan drifted under the door. The others were finding whatever pleasure and peace they could. He deserved the same. Manson motioned for him to follow and led the way to Holywood's room. He closed the door and locked it.

The kid seemed unsure, so he tried not to rush it. He wrapped his arms around those boney shoulders and they pressed together. After a few moments, Spooky pulled back.

He lifted his hand to Marilyn's face and rubbed his wine-colored lips. The makeup seemed to only enhance his masculinity. He started to lean in, then stopped.

"I'm nervous," he admitted.

"That's ok."

It was ok. Manson's softness was perfect. His hands on the young man's hips felt right. He was clear without pushing. It was exactly what he needed.

The first kiss was barely a touch. Marilyn's lips were smooth, a little waxy. He smelled like vodka and clean skin. The second was firmer, longer. He brought his hands up to his broad, thick chest.

"Will you kiss me?" he whispered. "Like a girl? I mean…"

Manson took his cheek in his palm, pulled him in and took over. Every kiss was deeper and more heated until he was coaxing the younger man to part his lips for him. Their tongues swirled. He could feel the lip ring.

A deep sigh made him realize how much he wanted to keep going. He guided Spooky to the cot. They sat, hands roaming with growing boldness. The young man murmured against his lips.

"Can I see you?"

Marilyn let go and stripped his shirt off. Spooky reciprocated. His skin was so smooth. He tentatively touched the scars and tattoos, a record of his life in his flesh. He drew a swirl over the block of M's and kissed the center.

"Is that ok?"

"Anything you want is ok."

The young man smiled. He bit his lip ring. His hand slid down Manson's stomach and settled on his bulge. He didn't reach for the zipper. He just wanted to feel it. He'd been too afraid before, of judgement, of ridicule. Manson was safe.

They kissed a while longer. Their bare skin felt wonderful. He ran one hand over the older man's shoulders and back. Under the other, he felt Marilyn's pants getting tighter.

"What if I…" He sounded shy again. "If we take it out… if I…"

"You don't owe me the whole thing," Manson assured. "You don't owe me anything. If you want to stop, it's ok. I won't be upset."

Spooky nodded. He tugged at the button and zipper awkwardly. Marilyn leaned back and helped. He was almost embarrassingly hard.

Even though it was literally the same cock, the young man seemed to be in awe. He looked it over, touched it like he wasn't sure what it was. He kissed it gently and tasted it with the tip of his tongue. It was electric.

Manson moaned. He shouldn't have. He didn't want to add any pressure. But it had been so long since he'd been new to anyone. He bit his lips together and closed his eyes.

Spooky was beside himself. Marilyn wasn't just tolerating him. He was enjoying him. He gave a few more kitten licks, then a wet open-mouthed kiss. He could hear a shuddering breath above him. He took the head between his lips and sucked, wondering if his piercing made a difference.

It tasted like nothing else. It felt good on his tongue. He was afraid to take it too deeply, so he wrapped his hand around the shaft and massaged. A hand ran through his hair. He reached down and pushed against his own hardening cock.

He stood up abruptly and stripped to the skin. Manson reached for him and he allowed it. The other man's mouth was hot and tight and so wet. He cursed. His body shook. He tapped Marilyn's shoulder, afraid he might cum.

Instead, he sprawled on the cot, legs wide, and held his cock. Manson shed the rest of his clothes and mirrored his openness. They stroked. It didn't feel clichéd. It felt natural and intimate. Spooky started and stopped, holding back. He wanted to cum together.

Marilyn focused on the feeling, the beautiful body in front of him, the twitching stomach and red, powerful cock. He felt his climax coming fast and whispered that he was close. The young man moved closer and gave it hell for leather.

His whimpers were too much. Manson came hard, splashing them both. His moan was strained and tight and authentic, not like porn at all. Spooky followed moments later. His cum landed on the older man's chest and stomach. Panting, he gathered some and added it to Marilyn's, mixing them on his skin.

Their breathing slowed and Manson helped him clean up. They got dressed slowly.

"I'm sorry," he said tenderly. "Your first time should've been a sunset on the beach or rose petals or something. It should've been special."

Spooky wrapped his arms around him, comfortable with their closeness.

"Like my future self in an alternate dimension isn't special?" He gave a soft kiss. "Thank you. I just hope it wasn't disappointing for you."

"Oh yeah," Marilyn quipped. "Being the first for my adorable twink past self was such a chore. I had to close my eyes and think of England."

A short knock on the door made Spooky jump. It was Jeff. Dr. Sanbell wanted one last blood test. They joined the others in the lab, then returned to the barracks.

No one slept. They played cards, kissed, cried, and giggled like kids at a sleepover. They told dirty jokes and dirtier stories. Spooky did his first line and Anti said he'd done his last. Omega said the word 'marriage' and Villain nearly had a heart attack. Marilyn promised to get off the ballot and back in the studio. They polished off the Oreos so they wouldn't go to waste.

No one wanted to say it, but the experience had changed them all. They'd seen what they could've been, what they could become. They knew what they wanted. Their timelines were fucked, but they felt straight inside.

When Jeff came to get them in the morning, it was obvious that he hadn't slept either. Marilyn held him, whispered instructions for taking over his estate, just in case. He gave them each handshakes and hugs. He turned the light off as they left the barracks.

They all dressed the part: original outfits and full makeup. Even Brian had a little contouring, courtesy of Omega. Their procession would've made a great poster. They were facets of a rough diamond, inexorably connected but unique men in their own right.

Dr. Sanbell was confident. She said her goodbyes and urged them to see a doctor when they got back. They stood in a group in front of the machine, dyed hair and dials. Despite not knowing if they could lose a finger, Anti and Rabbit held hands. Golden took his picture out. Brian closed his eyes.

There was a low hum. The room felt warm. It tingled like the air before a thunderstorm. Manson took a deep breath. It sounded like the building was opening up around them. And the nexus closed.


End file.
